


The Fear Before the Flame

by hannanotmontana



Series: Glitter in the Air [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, Friendship, Mature or Explicit Rating, Nothing too explicit though, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2015-03-15
Packaged: 2018-03-13 23:24:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 30,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3400151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannanotmontana/pseuds/hannanotmontana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three years apart have changed both Hawke and Varric and while they still love each other, it might just not be enough. In a world where the sky is torn and the young Inquisition led by a Qunari mercenary has just barely won a first victory over Corypheus, Hawke needs to atone for her biggest mistake. She is afraid, but if the world burns, it will burn with Varric at her side.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Title from 'Glitter in the Air' by Pink.  
> It's not necessary to have read the first installment of this story, but if you're into sappy Varric/Hawke romance like I am, you should consider reading it. Whatever you do, though, enjoy this story!  
> Will be updated on Sunday.
> 
> WARNING: The dream-sequence at the beginning might be particularly violent/gorey for some of you. Please read carefully!
> 
> \- Hanna

**(Haven, post-In Hushed Whispers)**

_He didn’t know how long he’d been locked up anymore. His capture had been... a long time ago, he supposed. Not long after the Inquisitor had disappeared together with the Tevinter, Dorian._

_The remaining members of the young Inquisition had started a desperate attempt at stopping Alexius and the mages, trying desperately to push their fear and sadness aside, to make the Inquisitor’s sacrifice count._

_Varric and the Iron Bull had been the ones pushing for it the most. Sera had followed, surprisingly as she had only been part of the force for a couple of weeks, and even Solas, who seemed more interested in the Breach than in going to war, had taken part._

_Cassandra had not spoken a single word since the incident and only started yelling when they lay siege to Redcliffe. Cullen led the troups while Leliana tried to break into Redcliffe again following leads on secret passageways._

_It had been to no use, though._

_Varric remembered the gurgling sound as Sera took a blade into her throat by one of the Inquisition’s own assassins controlled by enemy blood magic._

_But there wasn’t even time to worry about the dreaded blood magic when the demons poured out of the castle, thousands of them. Blackwall roared as he stormed forward, his fury rallying the soldiers – but to no avail. The last Varric saw of him was a bloody arm between the jaws of a pride demon._

_Cullen followed, slashing left and right but overwhelmed by the sheer number of enemies. Then a giant explosion came from where Solas had been fighting and then something hit Varric. The last thing he saw before darkness caught him was Cassandra being impaled by a sword made from lightening, which one of the rebel mages was swinging._

_The following time had been horrible. There was torture, sleep-deprivation, hunger, thirst – and Red Lyrium. They force-fed it to him, it grew in his cell and it was everywhere in the castle._

_Varric didn’t know what he told them, didn’t trust his own thoughts, much less his tongue. And he was kept alive in his cell to rot away with the blasted Red Lyrium._

_He sing-songed to himself, talked to himself, whispered to himself. To keep away the silence, to drown the screams and mutters of the other prisoners._

_And then they led him outside. He still didn’t know what day it was, or how long he’d been captured. But they led him outside, into Redcliffe Castle’s courtyard and he felt fresh air on his face for the first time in forever._

_The sky was broken, ripped apart. Demons were everywhere, as was the Red Lyrium. But Varric didn’t notice because the air held the promise of freedom. A surface dwarf born and bred, he had always hated being underground and while he much preferred a tavern roof over his head, the open sky after long captivity was all he had wished for, even if he realized that only just now._

_With the air, a sense of clarity slowly returned to his mind but he didn’t bother to try and ask his captors about what they were planning. All he would’ve received as an answer would have been pain or demonic grunts anyway._

_They stopped in front of an improvised gallows._

_A large crowd of mages and demons had already gathered and Alexius was standing next to a noose, looking expectantly towards the main entrance of the castle._

_At first, Varric wondered if the noose was for him. He found that he wouldn’t mind death._

_But then the gate opened and it became obvious for whom the noose was intended. The prisoner was carried in by four soldiers – and the carrying was a literal act, as the prisoner’s arms had been tied to a plank spread-eagled and their feet was dragging over the ground while the soldiers slowly made their way up to the gallows._

_“We’re here today to make an example of the true greatness that is our gracious Lord Corypheus,” Alexius called. “The Inquisitor is gone already and the Grey Wardens are under our command. The famous Hero of Ferelden currently serves as serving girl to Corypheus, the Champion of Nevarra has fallen, too, and King Alistair and Queen Anora serve as meal to the crows of the gallows of Denerim.”_

_Varric didn’t feel anything at this news. He realized he should have been shocked, scared, enraged – something. But he had suspected as much and hearing it out loud mattered little now. Whoever the poor sod about to be hanged was, they probably were better off dead anyway._

_“And now the last so-called hero of this age has been captured. She fought hard, but what does fighting mean in the face of a God as powerful as Corypheus?”_

_At his words, Varric felt something nagging away in a distant, less clouded area of his mind._

_“She thought she defeated our master once, but what a foolish girl she was in thinking that Corypheus can be defeated by a simple human?”_

_And suddenly Varric knew. He tried to move, but was immediately reined in by a burning pain inflicted by one of his mage guards._

_On the gallows, the soldiers untied the prisoner and one of them yanked back her head, eliciting a cry of pain. It was so distinctly Hawke that Varric didn’t need to see her bloodied features or her blood-crusted hair to know it was her._

_“I present to you: the Champion of Kirkwall!”_

_Alexius’ eyes found Varric in the crowd, and the dwarf understood why he had been dragged out. He must have told them about Hawke at some point, during the endless hours of interrogation and torture. He didn’t remember, but there was no other reason for why Alexius would have released him from his cell._

_Then the magister turned towards Hawke, who was standing shakily on her own feet now, but didn’t even move a single finger. All she did was hiss something unintelligible and spit out, but Alexius easily evaded it. He concentrated, and Varric saw how Hawke’s eyes widened in panic-_

_And then she stood straight, eyes hooded all of the sudden and face expressionless._

_She moved towards the noose on her own account. Mind control._

_“N-o.” Varric grunted, trying to get himself to move, trying to get himself to think straight, to think of something. Nothing happened._

_Hawke pulled the rope tightly, checking the knot twice. Then she stared straight ahead._

_Varric tried to meet her eyes, but failed._

_Her legs twitched as the wooden boards beneath her feet disappeared. The rope around her neck prevented her from making any sound, but the twitching feet and quickly purpling face gave away her agony._

_Varric was unable to look away._

_Only when she stopped moving and her head fell forward, hair covering her grotesquely swollen face and the tongue that hung out of her mouth he let out a painful sob before breaking down._

X

Varric startled awake.

Dwarves didn’t dream. They just didn’t. But if it _hadn’t_ been a dream, then it had to have been something else, and Varric wasn’t sure if he liked what ‘something else’ implied. So dream it was. Hopefully.

Honestly, he didn’t know what everyone made such a fuss about. Dreaming wasn’t exactly restful.

The dream (he would call it that until every thought of it being something else, like a horrible vision or demons or mind control or whatever) had been vivid and while his heart was pounding reassuringly fast in his chest and his thoughts were distinctly _not_ muddled – actually, in a panicked frenzy right now – spoke for him not being under Red Lyrium influence and, most importantly, not captured.

None of it had been real – or would never be real? Would never have been real?

Tenses. It was all tenses, tenses muddled and strange by the Inquisitor travelling to an apocalyptic future and preventing it. Or something like that.

At least Varric _hoped_ this whole dream-thing was only some lingering magical crap.

He sat on his mattress for a while, concentrated on breathing in and out, concentrated on not panicking until he didn’t see Hawke with a noose around her neck every time he blinked anymore.

Sleeping was still not an option though. He crawled out of his tent, into the semi-darkness that was Haven at roughly two in the morning. Few people were about but one person stood out.

“Inquisitor. Didn’t think you were into star-gazing.”

The Qunari warrior turned to look at him before she scooted over on the bench to make room for him. “I’m glad to see stars again. That future was decidedly star-less. Lots of rifts, though.”

“I think I got a glimpse of that,” he acknowledged and she cocked her head, clearly intrigued. “Had this weird-ass dream and it looked like you described it,” he explained further.

She looked apologetic. “I’m sorry – I don’t know if the mark- the _anchor_ carries a sort of... residual energy or something.”

He waved his hand. “Don’t worry. Not even sure if it was actually the future you went to or if I just dreamt about what you told us.”

“What happened?”

Varric shrugged. “Bad stuff. There was a battle – some of us were killed, some of us were captured. Leliana, Tiny, me. A... friend of mine hung herself under mind control.” He scratched his chest absentmindedly. “It was just a dream though. Let’s talk about something less gloomy.”

For a moment, it seemed as if Adaar would try and pry more out of him – a simple nightmare usually didn’t drive people out of their beds during war. You lived nightmares and then you went to bed and dreamt them – and you carried on.

But ultimately, she just smiled at him, face illuminated by the remains of the fire. “I don’t know if that helps, but not all of what you described was true. Dorian and me... we found you, and Leliana and the Iron Bull. But as far as we understand it, all of you had been captured the day we went to Redcliffe.”

“I’d like to think it was just a dream. Makes the thought of ever going back to bed a little less scary.”

“We’ll make sure it won’t come to whatever it is you saw.”

“That’s comforting.”

She laughed. “You’d be surprised at how little I hear these words. Most of the time, it’s just ‘Your heretic Qunari words mean nothing to me’. Followed by someone trying to spit in my face.”

“Trying to?”

Adaar smirked. “They can’t reach up high enough.”

Varric laughed quietly. “A funny Qunari. Never thought they actually existed.”

“I could say the same about beardless dwarves.”

“Any attempt at growing a beard would look ridiculous compared to Blackwall.”

The Inquisitor nodded in agreement before they fell silent for a while. Adaar stared up at the sky, pointedly not into the direction of the Breach, while Varric tried to burn the memory of his nightmare from his mind by staring into the embers of the nearly-dead fire.

Finally, Adaar broke the silence once more. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure. The answer might depend on your question, though.”

“About your home. Kirkwall.” She paused, then started again. “Your friends. I understand that you all parted ways and had different matters to attend but... do they know you’re here? Do they know what you’re doing?”

Ha looked at her amusedly. “What _am_ I doing?”

“Fighting the Breach. Stopping the end of the world.”

“You’re getting something mixed up here. The one doing all that is you. Remember - you, the Qunari? I’m the storyteller dwarf.”

“Who occasionally shoots things and runs a network of merchants and spies.”

“Exactly.” He sighed. “Look, the Inquisition might not be famous, but word of us has reached most of Thedas - I don’t have to let them know ‘what I’m doing’. I’ve made the decision to join because the Red Lyrium and Corypheus are connected to me.” _And because someone showed me how to do the right thing._ “I won’t ask you to lie to Cassandra, so I won’t tell you I’m in contact with the others-“

She smiled a little.

“-but just imagine Fenris here, for example. Hawke convinced him to fight alongside the mages, but he did it for her and not for anyone else. There’s a reason for why I didn’t stay in Kirkwall, for why neither of the others stayed. Fenris and Hawke were friends and, like any of us, he would have given his life for her. But here?” _Without her?_ “Who would stop him from going after Dorian, simply because he’s from Tevinter? Not me. Not you.”

“I understand. And I didn’t try to... change your mind on that or anything,” Adaar explained. “I was just... interested. Even if your part in the _Tale_ doesn’t seem big, it’s a story of years spent with the people you clearly consider your friends. Best friends, even. I suppose I don’t want you to lose those ties just because you joined the Inquisition.”

“You don’t lose friends if you don’t see their faces twenty-four hours a day,” he reassured her with a small smile. “In fact, I’m even glad that I don’t have to look at Anders’ face for a while.”

She smiled, too. “Oh, I understand that. Sometime’s this feels like vacation for me, too. Well, vacation with death threats.”

“You consider your old company your friends then?”

“Yes. The Valo-Kas were... well, they were not much, but they were my family of sorts. They’re actually pretty happy with the whole Inquisitor-thing – Cullen gives them things to kill.”

“The simple pleasures of life.”

“For them, yes.”

“Speaking of pleasures – are you with someone there?” Varric made a face before he tried a lopsided grin. “I mean, this is all _purely_ scientific interest. For when I write down your story, which will make me filthy rich.”

Adaar grinned. “And here I was thinking you were interested.”

“I can get ink and parchment if that helps setting a more scientific environment. If you ask really nicely, I might even put on glasses.”

“Is that how you charm the ladies? By showing off your chest and staring at them intensely across gold-rimmed spectacles?” She shook her head. “But to answer your question, no.”

He laughed at her joke, glad for ridiculous banter that distracted him from the lingering nightmare. “So, no romantic ties for you. Which is fortunate, because that way, I can conveniently make you fall in love throughout the story – a bit of romance always helps tighten the bond between reader and protagonist.” He cocked his head. “Hey, do Qunari in general even date?” He exchanged a genuinely interested look with Adaar. “I just realized I have no idea if it works the same under the Qun as with the rest of us. In my defense, the Qunari I met until now really only had me question if my last will was written down and how to get away from the big swords.”

“I’m sorry, I have no idea how it works for the Qunari,” Adaar told him. She wore the look of someone having to explain the same thing for the thousandth time but not really minding it – in Varric’s eyes, that was always a good character trait. “I’m Qunari as far as race goes. But those living under the Qun don’t consider me Qunari and since I grew up Tal-Vashoth, I don’t really know much about their customs.” In an afterthought, she added: “I don’t think they date, though. They don’t look like the dating-sort-of-people.”

Varric nodded in understanding and then had to laugh at the absurdity of the talk they were currently having – about the date life of Qunari, apparently. When he explained his amusement, Adaar started laughing, too, and as it was often the case, laughter loosened something in Varric’s chest.

For the rest of the night, they sat in companionable silence and the feeling that comradeship was sometimes all one needed to feel better. It also helped that Varric beat her at four games of Wicked Grace once the sun had come up high enough for them to make out the cards properly.

The Inquisitor had so far been approachable, but nevertheless a semi-stranger to Varric. With little information on her background and having only been allowed a glimpse into her attitude and thoughts so far, she had been intangible. But this night had raised an appreciation for her in him – for her quiet humour and sarcasm at times and for her genuine interest in him that wasn’t too prying at the same time.

Varric had the feeling she probably understood more than she led on at all times and to his surprise, he recognized in her what he believed Warden Duncan had seen in the Hero of Ferelden and what he knew he himself had seen in Hawke upon noticing her for the first time.

The Inquisitor was a person he could follow.


	2. There...

„Hawke.“

Her name felt like rain on his lips after weeks spent in the desert, and it tasted just as sweet as cinnamon rolls and fine wine. Of course he had used her name now and then, on the rare occasions he talked about her with the Inquisitor or some of the others at Skyhold, and he whispered or moaned it during lonely nights when he missed her body next to his, curled warmly against his side, most.

It had been over three months since they’d last seen each other – she had sneaked into Haven for one night because neither of them had been able to stand being apart for much longer. Plus, she had had information on Red Lyrium mining activities in the vast desert regions of Orlais’ west.

Then the attack on Haven had taken place and Varric remembered the dozen attempts he had used to try and compose a letter to her afterwards.

_“ ~~Dear Hawke,~~_

_~~Hawke,~~ _

_~~Haven was under attack-~~ _

_I’m alive. So are the Inquisitor and most of the townspeople. ~~We lost dozens of men.~~_

_~~Children burnt before my eyes.~~ _

_Corypheus is behind all this – seems like he was not as dead as we thought he was._

_~~I love~~ Tell me you’re okay._

_\- Varric”_

Her reply had taken so long to be delivered that his skin had itched with every minute that had passed without an answer. He’d been irritated for most of the march to Skyhold – the other’s put it down to his dislike for nature (they weren’t technically wrong) and the general sense of impending doom that Corypheus’ appearance had left – and had debated with himself whether leaving and looking for Hawke would be possible.

And then a raven found him, delivering a small scrap of paper with only three words on it.

_“On my way.”_

True to her words, she had tracked them down, followed the trail a caravan of people – every person surviving Haven, plus all the things they had been able to save, the soldiers and the Inquisitor – left and found Skyhold, their hidden fortress.

Also, Varric’s room in the tower close to the tavern.

Hawke stood at the windowsill, watching the dark courtyard as Varric entered his room.

Upon hearing her name, though, she turned and although she didn’t smile, Varric found himself getting light-headed at seeing her after all this time and with all the long, gangly human limbs still attached to the places they belonged to.

“You know, I didn’t even bother to look somewhere else for your room. Is that tavern thing a kink of yours I didn’t know about?”

He winked. “You know all my kinks, Hawke.” He had a feeling that he’d use her name more often than necessary, simply because he _could_.

“True.” She fell silent again, and Varric noticed her heart and mind weren’t even half in the game of exchanging stupid comments.

He slowly stepped closer until he was standing next to her, refraining himself with all his might from touching her – she emitted a coldness that had him physically shivering. “Hey, are you alright?”

She didn’t look at him. “Are you?” She used her no-nonsense voice, but for some reason, it was laced with ice.

Varric narrowed his eyes. Something was clearly wrong.“I- shit, Hawke. Of course I’m not. Haven was a disaster. But... _you_ ’re here. I can’t honestly say that’s a bad thing.” Against his better knowledge, he tried to reach out for her and felt something cold sicker into his stomach when she flinched and wrapped her arms around herself, turning away.

“Hawke?”

“This is my fault. All of it.”

“That’s not-“

“ _Don’t_ tell me that’s not true. If I hadn’t gone to that prison, if my blood hadn’t opened that fucking gate, if I had actually been good at the only job I had in there – killing Corypheus – none of this would have happened.” Varric noticed how her knuckles whitened when her grip around her own side grew tenser. “And it’s not just Haven. If I had been able to stop Meredith, and Anders, before the situation in Kirkwall had escalated-“

“Hawke!” Varric couldn’t help it anymore, he almost yelled her name and reached out for her again, causing her to jump away, a fierce, desperate look on her face. He went right after her, backing her against the wall although he didn’t went as far and held her there.

Nevertheless she glared at him like a wild animal.

“What the fuck happened to you?! You’re talking mad!” His voice rumbled, full of passion and desperation, while his heart pounded in his chest at the sight of his best friend, his lover, who seemed to have changed into a complete stranger, a person he barely recognised as his friend of years.

“I’m not and you know it,” she spat, blue eyes burning brightly but not with passion but a sort of empty, hollow fire that had taken over control of her mind.

“Listen to me, _knucklehead_ : none of this is your fault, or mine. We couldn’t have changed a thing – not with Blondie, not with Meredith and certainly not with Corypheus who was 100 % dead when we left him. It’s fucking magic is what it is – and we have no control over that crazy shit!”

“Why can’t I-“ she started, then huffed and ran her now trembling hands through her hair. “When I tried to tell you the Red Lyrium shit wasn’t your fault, you didn’t listen!” she accused him then and even though it stung, he had to admire how she always knew exactly what to say, even though in this case, he’d hoped she wouldn’t.

“That shit scares the crap out of me,” he admitted defeated, trying to show her that he was on her side, agreed with her, wasn’t a threat. “And I know I’m not thinking straight when it comes to that stuff.”

“Then why do _you_ get to be scared and I-“ she stopped herself, closing her eyes with a sigh. Then she opened them again and straightened her back, jaw locked tightly.

However, Varric finally understood. This wasn’t _guilt_. Not only, at least. This was... “Hawke, it’s okay to be scared,” he told her softly and stepped aside, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Maker knows, it’s okay. There’s people hearing mineral singing to them, turning them into red monsters; there’s Corypheus and a demon army , not to mention a giant whole in the sky – if now’s not a good time to be scared, then I don’t know.”

Hawke said nothing, just watched him with alert eyes, face defiant and arms crossed over her chest. Her slightly trembling nostrils were the only thing that gave away her inner turmoil now.

“Is there anything I can do?” he asked carefully, his eyes warm and pupils wide in the candle-lit room, for once more black than golden.

For a while longer, the question lingered in the room unanswered, a time during which Varric breathed deeply to keep the hollow feeling in his stomach down to a minimum. Finally, Hawke uncrossed her arms and reached out as if to touch him. However, halfway in the motion she stopped herself and let her arms hang by her sides, looking like a lost child. Yet Varric didn’t dare to reach out to her again in case she reacted as badly as before.

“I can’t believe I said all that. I shouldn’t have,” she finally told him, staring at the ground.

He chuckled, and the sound made her look up with an expression that reminded him strangely of Cassandra’s-what-the-hell-is-wrong-with-you face. “Why? Because you’re the Champion of Kirkwall?”

“I can’t break down when things get dirty. Never have before, can’t start now,” she explained, more to herself than to him, it seemed.

Suddenly, Varric saw a clear picture before his eyes. Hawke on the run, nights spent in forests, caves, ditches. Times when she was being hunted by mages, templars and – because she seemed to be lucky that way – probably a couple of dragons. Throw in some slavers. Hawke, shivering from cold and soaked by the unforgiving early spring rains that flooded Ferelden every year. Hawke telling herself that it would eventually get better and that she shouldn’t be afraid.

The thought pained Varric. He tried to find words that made up for him not being there.

“Again: why? There’s no one here but me, and I’ve seen worse than a bit of justified fear. You know nothing of this will ever leave this room.” When she didn’t look half as defiant as before he continued, aiming for a lighter tone, “In fact, I actually planned on _you_ never leaving this room. We can just stay here, wine and dine, until it’s safe to go outside again. Let the tall people beat up the baddies.”

Hawke didn’t smile, not exactly, but her face lost a few of the tense lines around her eyes and mouth. She carefully made a step forward and reached out again, stopped inches before his shoulder, though. “May I?”

Her voice was soft, unsure, and the hair that fell in her face covered her eyes.

It wasn’t like he had been the one flinching away from touch earlier, Varric thought, but with a lot less malevolence than he had actually expected. He was hurt, yes, but he also knew that Hawke hadn’t been in her right mind then and probably wasn’t quite back right now. “Sure,” he muttered.

When she laid her fingers on his shoulder softly, he brought up his hand, covering hers in his lightly and drilled his eyes into the specs of blue he saw blinking through the curtain of black hair.

“I haven’t been able to tell you I love you much during the past couple of months. But I do. I love how strong you are, but I also love that you’re so full of emotion it spills out of your eyes, even if it’s only there for me to see. You truly care, and if that makes you scared, then I love you even more for it.”

The pressure of her fingertips on his shoulder got harder at his words and when he released her hand, it wandered towards his cheek, where she stroked her thumb softly over the blond stubble.

“Of course _you’re_ only in it for the chest hair and the financial security,” he continued, mirth obvious in his voice, “but I’m here for everything you need me for.” In an afterthought, he added: “Whether you want it or not.”

That seemed to have been what Hawke had needed to hear. She dropped to her knees, now on eye level with him, and took his face in both hands. “You got me,” she whispered. “I’m scared and I want to hide in the depths of your chest hair.” She pressed a kiss to his forehead and he laughed quietly. “But I also love you, Varric Tethras.” A kiss to his lips. “I’m sorry for freaking out. I had a plan, you know. For when I saw you first.” Another kiss to his lips.

“Oh, and what would that plan have been?” he murmured, their breath mingling between them. The scent of vanilla hung in the air.

“It involved sweeping.”

“Hawke, I’m not sure I can really sweep you off your feet in a literal sense,” he told her seriously and she butted her head against his lightly, resting her forehead against his for a moment.

“I would have been the one doing the sweeping. Hey, are you calling me fat?”

He pulled her closer, one hand at the back of her neck, one on her rips. “I intend to call you a lot of things, but fat wasn’t one of them.”

“Oh?” One of her eyebrows went up and the move was so typically Hawke that the terror of minutes before was almost forgotten except for a lingering darkness in the corner of the room where Hawke had stood before.

Varric acted, then, and pulled her along until they were both on the bed, safe away from the ground and the dark corners where shadows lurked. The bed was soft, warm and an island of security in the middle of conflict, fear and stress.

“I’ll call you ‘love’ when I kiss your knuckles and tell you how beautiful you look.” He guided her right hand to his lips. Her eyes fluttered close momentarily and when she opened them again, Varric swore he could have drowned in them – blue and green like the ocean, rough like the Waking Sea with emotions chasing each other.

“I’ve missed you,” she breathed against his mouth and he closed the small distant to kiss her, firmly but with a tenderness that she clung to like she knew he would never hurt her the way she had hurt him before with her rejection of his touch.

His hands carefully worked on the clasps of her armour and for a while the only sound audible was their synced breathing as he helped her out of leather and cloth until all that was left was the tunic she wore as an undershirt.

New scars and old covered her skin, and Varric found them all with his fingers and lips, tracing every mark on Hawke’s skin that he saw.

She undid his belt next and slid off his boots and trousers. The sash around his stomach slid through her fingers, fine silk making not the quietest of sounds as it pooled in her lap. He picked it up again, carefully dragging it across her bare thighs until she shivered under his administrations and her breath came out in hot puffs.

When her fingers clasped the hem of his tunic, the process of taking it off was rougher, less coordinated than before and her fingers raked over his chest then, as if trying to find out if it was different.

He, too, had a few new scars to show, even if there were far less than on her body but that didn’t stop her from growling low in the back of her throat when her fingers skimmed over a dark mark that was all that was left of a deep cut.

Almost possessively, then, her hands wandered to his lower back, one covering the area of where the Darkspawn had poisoned him years ago, one hand resting between his shoulders until she could pull him on top of her.

“I’ll call you ‘my lady’ when you wear my signet ring and I remember how you fake-married me to scare the Merchants Guild,” he told her then, while he carefully pushed up her tunic and pulled it off, along with her breastband.

Her naked body lay there, as if painted for him and him alone, and when he slid his ring off his finger, he quickly threaded it onto a gold band that had been resting in the nightstand ever since he knew she was coming, just for this occasion.

As he guided the newly-formed necklace over her head, the metal meeting the soft hollow of her throat, she smiled even though goose-bumps broke out over her skin and her nipples hardened from both his attentive stare and the feeling on her skin. The gold of the ring worked wonderfully with her relatively pale skin and the few freckles spreading over her chest, barely visible in the soft light, looked like a bed to rest the piece of jewellery on.

“I’ll call you ‘mine’ because you decided you wanted to be with me; and you look wonderful when you’re naked and wear nothing but my ring,” he admitted, voice husky, and she propped herself up, meeting him halfway in a hungry kiss.

Both their hands started roaming again, drinking in each others’ bodies until his every touch had Hawke moaning breathy little nonsense words and every touch of her seemed enough to send him over the edge.

At some point, they had switched positions and they didn’t need words to understand what he - both of them, really – needed then. She lowered herself slowly, and Varric’s eyes rolled back in his head when he felt her clench around him.

Their rhythm was slow, leaving enough breath to whisper sweet nothings at each other, nothings full of emotion.

“I’ll... call you ‘Hawke’ when I come, because your name means... more than any other word can,” he managed while the room spun and all he really saw was Hawke, with her blue eyes and the golden ring resting above her breasts, her body moving softly on top of him.

When she came, his name tumbled from her lips like the sweetest of prayers and it was what finally sent him into utter bliss, too – her name, as he had promised, remained the only thing crossing his lips.

oOo

They stayed awake for so long that the sky already started to brighten and the stars faded while they talked.

Varric had... matured, for the lack of a better word, and Hawke felt as if she had a stranger in front of her wearing her lover’s face. Not a complete stranger, though, just someone who had seen things that had shaped him into someone new.

Hawke herself was different, she knew it as well as he did. The years on the run had hardened her into a defiant creature, who only slowly found back to the self she had been in Kirkwall. Varric made it easier and harder at the same time.

Their love was a constant and sometimes had been the only thing forcing her to fight harder, to go on, to get up and going. But it was different, being loved from far away, than now, in the same room as the man she’d missed so much. It was hard not to feel suffocated by his barely hidden worry – once, she had laughed it off and secretly found it comforting, but now she had trouble not to be suffocated by it.

In the same respect, Varric found it hard to stop fussing now that he finally had her back with him for hopefully more than just one night. Her letters had always been vague so as not to give away her location should someone get a hold of their correspondence, but he couldn’t simply ask her for all of her whereabouts now. It would be creepy and controlling, two things he absolutely didn’t consider himself.

“Maybe we should just stop talking about anything serious until all of _this-_ “ Hawke gestured between them, “stops being awkward. It will be okay at one point.”

Varric smiled thankfully. “Ah, the old avoiding-technique. Everyone in favour rise their hands?” He held up the hand from which the signet ring was still missing, resting on Hawke’s chest now, while Hawke followed suit with a grin.

“It’s not like Isabela or any of the others is here to kick our ass about avoiding the serious stuff,” she mused and Varric nodded in agreement before they finally went to sleep, Hawke curled up against his side.

They were right about eventually being okay – even if their dynamics were off and parts of them were strange to the other now, they would muddle through it and it certainly didn’t mean they loved and cared for each other any less than before.

However, they weren’t exactly right about a second thing – how Hawke would find out two days from then.

oOo

While the first day was largely spent in catching up with each other by alternating in telling light tales about their respective adventures, the second day wasn’t as easy – it involved a long talk with the Inquisitor, who was at least somewhat sensible when it came to making decisions, and then a proper introduction to the war council and some of the Inquisitor’s companions.

Hawke wouldn’t have thought it possible, but seeing Cullen again didn’t turn out nearly as bad as she’d expected and they both kept their respectful distance from each other, although there was no hostility between them.

Now it was late in the evening, Varric was off with the Inquisitor and Hawke had found a seat on the first level of the tavern, far away from the nosier patrons and quietly watching her surroundings until someone caught her eye.

The woman wore boots going up to her knees, shorts and a blouse that revealed more than they covered and her every movement was accompanied by soft tingling and gold blinking in the candle light from the generous amount of rings, necklaces and earrings she was wearing. Her black hair was held back by a headband – and her laughter was loud and raucous.

As silently as she could, Hawke made her way down the stairs and when she was only a couple of steps away from the woman at the bar, she said: “What a sight for sore eyes!”

The woman turned, a confused look on her face, but when she saw Hawke, her eyes widened in pleasant surprise and she squealed before gathering up the Champion in a crushing hug.

“YOU!”

“Me,” Hawke confirmed. “You?”

“Me!” The woman replied with a grin and lifted an imaginary top hat. “Captain Isabela, Pirate Queen of Antiva, at your service!”

Hawke curtseyed before Isabela grabbed her again, this time to plant two kisses on her cheeks. “Look at you, all... uhm, worn-out and tired-looking!” the pirate stated and eyed her critically.

“Oh, you noticed? Actually, I was going for a... haggard sort of look.” Hawke smiled.

Isabela smiled back and then grabbed two mugs of ale in one hand, while steering Hawke away from the bar. “Come on, let’s get a quiet corner! There’s so much to tell!”

After they had settled in a quiet corner and Isabela had drowned half of her ale in one long gulp, Hawke asked: “So, what brings you here?”

Isabela smirked. “The Inquisition was in search for a naval advisor and... they’re paying well.”

Hawke raised an eyebrow. “And you think you’re equipped to be a ‘naval advisor’? With the whole Pirate-Queen-thing you’ve got going on?”

“It’s not like I’m going to introduce myself like that, obviously.”

“You know they have a spymaster, right? And besides, I think everyone in Thedas knows your face. Or at least your tits.”

“I would be offended if that came from anyone else, you know?”

Hawke patted her hand in a placatory way. “I know.”

Isabela took another sip of her ale and leaned back in her chair before she mustered Hawke from head to mid-riff, which was all she could see at the moment for table-y reasons. “The better question would be: what are _you_ doing here?”

“The usual. Hawke to the rescue and all that.”

“Yeah, no.” The pirate was completely unimpressed. “Try again.”

Hawke sighed. “Look, the Inquisition needs everyone who is able to help, and if they’ve dealt with Corypheus before? Even better. I wish I could stay away, but... I can’t. It wouldn’t be right.”

“Of course not.” Isabela shook her head, a small amused smile playing around her lips. “You know, being around you always made me want to be a better person. Hey, don’t smirk, that’s not a compliment. You suck.”

“Thank you. I love you, too, Isabela.”

The other rogue blew her a kiss before they settled back on their drinks, chatting the night away. Hawke felt the tension gradually leave her body, the way it did when you caught up with dear friends you hadn’t seen in a long while and the company – and alcohol – helped, too.

After they were done catching up on each other’s lives, they moved on to exchanging impressions and information about the inhabitants of Skyhold and the conversation became exceedingly lighter and, as always with Isabela, smuttier.

They were somewhere between their third and fourth tankard when Isabela stated: “A woman needs three people in her life,” and grabbed Hawke’s hand in a conspiratorial manner, pulling her closer. The alcohol in her breath was just as obvious as the empty mugs in front of her. “One to make her happy, one to make her sad and one for sex.”

“But having them around at the same time would be awfully stressful, I think,” Hawke humoured her, cheeks reddened from the damp heat of the tavern, ale and good mood.

Isabela’s forehead wrinkled as she thought about that for a moment, but ultimately she shook her head. “You wouldn’t have to. I mean, it obviously has advantages – I’ve never had a foursome before – but... look, I’m happy when I have sex, so that’s a two-in-one deal. One person less already, okay? That’s _math_. As for the other one... well I guess you can handle two people.”

“Why would I want someone to be sad with, though?”

“Sometimes being sad is a good thing! Makes you... human and all that shit.”

“Human, hm?” Hawke smirked. “So you’re saying... the one to be sad with... can’t be a Qunari for example?” In an afterthought, that made little sense, but Isabela’s eyes had already lit up and wandered into a corner of the tavern where one of the Inquisitor’s companion, the leader of a mercenary group, was sitting surrounded by his people.

“Why? You thinking of _The Iron Bull_? You wanna _ride_ The Bull?” Isabela laughed loudly.

“What- no!”

“Aw, come on – don’t tell me you haven’t thought about jiggling those man-boobs before!”

“I’m pretty sure there isn’t a barmaid north of Skyhold who hasn’t done that yet,” Hawke replied drily. “Besides – he’s spoken for.”

“What, no shit?”

Hawke nodded. “It’s him and the Inquisitor, I think.”

“Makes sense. Bloody Qunari, leaving no fun for the rest of us,” the pirate mused, but after staring at the chief of the Chargers across the room for a while, she added: “I can see what he sees in her, though. Those long Qunari legs must be good for something.”

“I can’t believe you used ‘legs’ after ‘those long Qunari’ – honestly, Isabela, it’s as if you’ve become a completely different person!”

“Hey, I was getting to his cock in a minute-“ Isabela defended herself, eyes twinkling mischievously. “I just wasn’t done thinking about our good Lady Herald yet.”

“And _there_ is the Isabela I know.”

“She never left,” the Rivaini told her, before she changed the topic again. “Speaking of leaving – where’s my favourite ex-roomie-of-sorts?”

“Varric is out with the Inquisitor. Something about Red Lyrium smuggling in the Hinterlands.”

Isabela’s face darkened. “Shit. Why are they not taking you?”

“For one, they don’t know about the sort of relationship we have and as you liked to put it a couple of years ago: when we’re around each other, it’s fucking obvious. And secondly, I... I didn’t want to. Varric has a hunch about the whole situation, and he’s being very secretive about it as of lately. I figure he’ll tell me about it when he thinks I need to know.”

“Or _if_.”

Hawke shook her head. “ _When_.”

“Fine,” Isabela huffed, before staring at her intently. “You’re not fighting, though, are you?”

For a moment, Hawke considered keeping quiet. Isabela’s piercing glare – did the woman read her thoughts? – prevented her from doing so, though. “We’re okay. Just... different. I haven’t seen him for longer than a couple of days during the past three years. He’s seen things and I have, too. It’s weird. Maker, he even met King Alistair with you. Which reminds me not to leave the two of you alone for too long. I turn my back and you become involved with royalty.” Hawke smirked slightly.

“We’re capable of having fun without you, yes. Shocking as it might be,” Isabela teased her, but then cocked her head. “You’re still completely besotted thinking about Varric,” she noticed. “And I know first-handily that he still gets that puppy love look in his eyes when someone mentions you and he thinks no-one’s looking. So you’re going to be fine, right?”

“I don’t see why not,” Hawke admitted and smiled crookedly, attempting to steer the conversation back into a more pleasant direction. “Are you being concerned?”

Isabela thankfully picked up the light tone straight away and winked. “No, I’m just waiting for you to release him so I can find out if the rumours about dwarven cocks and stamina is true. Besides – that chesthair? Very fine.”

“Unfortunately, you will never find out. At least not with my- Varric.”

“You were going to call him ‘my dwarf’!”

“Was not.”

“Were, too! No worries, I’ll think twice about stealing the Champion of Kirkwall’s man.”

“Very considerate of you.”

“’Considerate’ is my second name, Hawke. And speaking of-“ Isabela leaned back, enjoying her own presumed good-hearted-ness, “-do you know about that paint the Qunari wear for battle?”

Hawke nodded, not quite sure what her friend was aiming at.

“Well, turns out – it’s not just good for killing things. They have all kinds of paints and pattern and some of them are useful for a very _different_ sort of activity.” Isabela cocked her head for a moment. “Or not so different after all. There’s sweating and grunting, so...”

Hawke couldn’t help herself and started to giggle helplessly. “Are you saying the Qunari have some sort of... sex paint?”

Isabela snorted before dissolving into a giggle fit herself, powered by alcohol and Hawke’s infecting laughter. “If you put it that way-“ It took both women a moment to gather themselves again and Isabela’s eye makeup smudged around her eyes as she wiped away tears of laughter. “Anyway, what if I told you I got my hands on some of that ‘sex paint’?”

“I would probably run for my armour and weapons and get ready to fight the next Arishok who wants something back you stole from the Qunari,” Hawke replied drily.

“Point taken. Although I can promise you that it’s not exactly stolen.” The pirate crossed her arms, looking proud. “I bargained for it.”

“I’m sure that sounds better in your ears, but – can you promise me no-one will try to kill us tonight?”

“100% sure. I got it from the Bull, and he’s sitting right over there, decidedly _not_ killing us right now.”

“You made a deal with Iron Bull? What’s this about?”

“He showed me some patterns and gave me the paint in exchange for... information.”

“So you’re spying for a former spy who’s Tal-Vashoth now?”

“Not like that – no, he just wants to know if anything happens if you put it on someone who is not Qunari.”

“Well what happens when you put it on someone who _is_ a Qunari?”

“He wouldn’t tell me. Said I’d know the difference if it worked on humans, too.”

“So why are you not trying it out? Don’t tell me you’ve taken on chastity vows.”

Isabela grinned. “Is that supposed to happen before or after they declare me the new Divine?” She took another sip from her ale and explained: “The pattern he showed me is supposed to go on the back. And as flexible as I might be, I can’t really paint my own back.”

“Why can’t you paint your lover’s back?”

“They always tell me I’m amazing anyway, so I wouldn’t know if the pattern made any difference.”

“Okay, Isabela – I know you want to ask me, and I’m not sure if I’m supposed to be offended right now. I’m not bad at sex!”

“First of all, you can’t be bad at sex, can you? That’s like being bad at breathing. And secondly: if this works, I do you and Varric a massive favour because I’ll improve your sex life even though I’m not literally fucking with you.”

“And if it doesn’t work?”

“You have a pretty painting on your back that’s probably not permanent.”

“ _’Probably’_?”

oOo

“You’ve changed,” Hawke observed. Isabela only hesitated for a split-second in her administrations and then the cool brush of paint on Hawke’s back continued.

“I don’t know. You think so?” her voice was aiming too hard at casual.

Hawke made an affirmative sound.

“Well, I’m the same Isabela.” She sounded defiant, challenging even, but Hawke knew better than to rise to that challenge.

“I know.” She chuckled. “It’s just – Varric’s told me a bit about what happened a year ago. I’m just checking if you’re alright.”

The brushing continued for another minute before Isabela stopped and leaned in carefully, hooking her chin over the shoulder Hawke assumed was not painted yet. From the corner of her eyes, she could look at Isabela, who gave her a smile. “Look, your mother instinct’s coming through again. But I promise you that I’m fine. I’m not... _scarred_ for life by a bit of man-handling-“ she laughed, “-and I don’t cry myself to sleep every night.” Isabela pressed her cheek against Hawke’s for a moment before leaning back again, continuing her work. “I promise, if I ever feel like talking about it, I’ll let you know. But I’m good. I swear.”

“I’ll pretend I believe that,” Hawke conceded and winked over her shoulder.

That would be it, with Isabela. Hawke liked to believe that if the other woman wanted to talk, she’d come and do so on her own terms. There was a difference between ‘man-handling’ and attempted forced conversion to the Qun and brainwashing. Varric hadn’t gone into too much detail, but it had been clear that Isabela had been deeply shaken, down to the very core of her being. Something like that didn’t mend in a couple of weeks.

But if Hawke could be of any help, she’d gladly be.

“You’ve changed, too, you know?” Isabela mentioned lightly, never ceasing to apply the intricate pattern.

“So I’ve been told.”

“You know how I always give the best advice? Like when I told you and Varric to get your heads out of your asses?”

“The time you advised me to go on a treasure hunt in the Sundermount caves comes to mind. The Dead rising from their graves, especially. And spiders. Don’t forget the spiders.”

“And the _gold_. I remember someone fawning over a chest full of shiny gemstones and bracelets for weeks.”

“ _I_ remember someone spending all of _her_ share on ale to bribe Varric into showing her the oil painting of him and Bartrand as toddlers.”

“I tried to do all of us a favour.”

“We never saw it...”

“I know – still, I think I get credit for trying.” Something occurred to her. “Hey, you should try and convince him. I bet he’ll show you if you ask _nicely_.”

Hawke didn’t need to see her friend to imagine the sultry look on her face. “Will do. Once the world doesn’t end, of course.”

“Hey, don’t be so pessimistic! Or is that what you are now?”

“No. Well, I hope not. I’ve seen things...” Hawke trailed off, wondering if she should continue or not, but then her voice acted all on its own accord. “The mages tried to convince me to be the face of their rebellion. Everywhere I went, they looked at me as if I was somehow responsible for the upraise of the Circles. The templars think I’m responsible too. Neither of them cares that I just tried to help Kirkwall. Did you know the mages captured me?”

“No.” Isabela’ voice was calm, but she had stopped painting. Hawke felt her tense.

“When I told them I didn’t do anything except try to get a truce, try to stop Anders from making it worse, they tried to reason with me and when it became obvious I didn’t want to be part of attacks on templars or the Chantry, they caught me. I escaped before they could do much damage, though.” Hawke paused. “Have you ever hit a child?”

“I... yes? Maybe? I don’t know. I wouldn’t put it past me.” Isabela didn’t sound like she would have regretted it if she had and Hawke was reminded that even though Isabela had a pleasant personality, she was also a ruthless pirate. There was a side to Isabela that barely came to light, even when they fought together.

“I killed six mages that day,” Hawke continued. “Four men, two women. And then the last women’s children stepped in my way. They couldn’t have been older than eight or nine years, and all they could do was conjuring up small fireballs. But I hit them and the smaller girl fell awkwardly.”

“Did it kill her?”

“You mean did _I_ kill her? I don’t know. I was on the run, remember. I didn’t stop.” Hawke looked over her shoulder. “At what point did I stop caring if someone died? At what point did I stop trying not to hurt people when it wasn’t necessary? That’s what scares me.”

Isabela sighed heavily. “Honestly? I don’t think you stopped caring or, in fact, will ever stop caring about the deaths of complete strangers. It’s like with Fenris – he’ll always hate mages. On occasion, he might put his hatred aside, but deep inside he won’t change. Same with you. You won’t ever truly change. And that’s one of the best things about you.”

The pirate had picked up the paint brush again and worked on Hawke’s back, while the Champion contemplated her friend’s explanation. Finally, she took a deep breath and asked: “ _One_ of the best things?”

Isabela laughed loudly. “Subtle, Waffles.”

Hawke just groaned. “Maker, I haven’t heard that nickname in ages. Of all the bad things we found at that tower, that name is the worst by far.”

“Worse than the Darkspawn trying to rule the world?”

“The _worst_.”

“Well, apparently Varric stopped calling you that quickly,” Isabela observed. “Does he have a new nickname? ‘Sexy’? Or something more tasteful? I bet it’s something literary – I bet he talks sexy with book references! Like... ‘I wanna dip my feather into your inkpot’.” The Rivaini started laughing so hard she rolled back on the bed and Hawke, too, shook with laughter.

Soon enough, they tried to out-do each other with literary dirty talk until Hawke was certain she would never be able to watch Varric write letters ever again.

oOo

Varric had had a long day and the fact that he heard two of the tavern regulars whisper about Isabela – Isabela as in _Rivaini,_ who shouldn’t even _be_ here – having disappeared in a room upstairs with someone who fit Hawke’s description perfectly for, apparently, ‘obvious reasons’ didn’t help to make him feel less irritated.

Having to clean up after Red Lyrium mess usually had that effect on him, and even if he didn’t listen to gossip like that _usually_ didn’t mean he couldn’t be a little bit... irritated.

A feeling that subsided and made room for amused curiosity when he stood in front of the locked door of his quarters and heard soft, female-voice giggling coming from inside. He unlocked the door quietly and slipped through, only to have his eyes fall on a trail of clothing that lead around the corner towards where the giggling was coming from.

Suspicious – if it had been someone else. Which could very well be the case since Hawke usually didn’t giggle so much.

However, the sight of his very naked Champion quickly confirmed it was actually Hawke, and bent over her back was Isabela, doing.... something.

Sensing the light draft he had caused in the room, Hawke instinctively gathered a piece of cloth he recognised as one of his tunics to her chest while looking up, although she relaxed when she noticed him. Isabela looked up, too, and grinned broadly.

“That’s my cue then.”

Varric raised an eyebrow. “This looks like something I would write about, except I’m not an Orlesian nobleman and neither of you is the Empress. Hello Rivaini, by the way.”

“My favourite dwarf, grumpy about Red Lyrium and irritated by anyone coming too close to Hawke – why, it’s as if we never left Kirkwall.” Isabela gathered her things before she told Hawke: “Try to remember details!” and sauntered towards Varric, whom she gathered into a hug, too.

He tried as best as he could not to have his face caught between her breasts.

“We’ll talk tomorrow. Right now, you’ll want to get naked.”

Varric raised an eyebrow. “Will you still be in the room?”

“Wishful thinking. No, it’s just Hawke and you. Have fun!”

And while Hawke and Varric still had a lot to figure out, they were in love with each other and Varric knew when to seize an opportunity – especially if the opportunity was a very naked Hawke wearing nothing but intricate swirls of paint all over her skin.

Her back looked like parchment, with black ink filling the blank page of her skin. Varric had always been a bibliophile.

oOo

“Guess what I found out today?” Hawke settled down next to Isabela on the edge of a bailey wall the next day, carefully keeping her face clear of any hint on what was going on.

Isabela cocked her head, clearly having no clue where this was leading.

“The ‘Qunari sex paint’ or rather paint in general is called ‘Vitaar’ and it’s completely _toxic_ for anyone who’s not Qunari.” Hawke crossed her arms, raising one eyebrow. “This is the part where you apologize for almost killing me.”

Isabela, however, didn’t seem exactly remorseful but rather furious. “Oh, that horned bastard gave me fake paint! I knew he was grinning too much! I’ll show him what we do to fucking cows in Antiva-“

“Like this: _‘Hawke, I’m sorry I almost killed you with poisonous sex paint’_ ,” Hawke tried in fake hopefulness, while grabbing her friend’s arm to keep her from having a run-in with the captain of the Chargers.

“He made fun of me!”

“If anyone here is the affected party, it’s me – who knows what the stuff he gave you is made of. And who knows what you wrote on my back.”

That seemed to shake Isabela from her anger, because she slowly started grinning. “Hey, maybe I wrote some nasty words on your back in Qunlat!”

“For _your_ sake, let’s hope it washes off,” Hawke simply told her before she let go of her friend and got ready to leave for a talk with some of the Inquisition’s scouts that had been investigating Crestwood.

Isabela called after her. “Hey, how was the sex?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Urgh EXCUSE THE SWEETNESS OVERLOAD.  
> Next update on Thursday! Thanks for the kudos!!  
> \- Hanna (tumblr: hanna-notmontana)


	3. Summertime, and the Livin' Is Easy

There were not many children in Skyhold – not that there would be. It was a fortress, home to warriors, smiths, herbalists, mages.

And yet there they were. Running around in the courtyard, peeling potatoes in the kitchen, a few of them running errands for Cullen and Josephine or anyone else in need of a message quickly delivered.

There were three girls and four boys, the last time Adaar had counted. Which had actually been only a couple of minutes ago. It was a sunny, warm day and Corypheus and a templar-mages war seemed a distant, strange thing happening somewhere else or in the stories of grandmothers. They were playing tag and Adaar had been watching from the shadows how Sera, sitting against a wall, had been twitching for almost twenty minutes – either to join them or shoot them down for practice. In any case, it was more entertaining than what Cullen and Josephine were bickering about at the moment.

The happy squeaks and rough tumbling came closer now, as the children played carelessly. They usually stayed away from the important people, but something about the warm spring day made everything different.

And then one of them made a – for a child gigantic – leap backwards to avoid being tagged and jumped straight into her. Admittedly, even in his leap, the boy didn’t quite reach up to her navel, and Adaar barely felt it anyway, but the look of pure mortification on the poor boy’s face told her he knew he’d been warned about rough-housing around the Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste, the one who was supposed to save them all.

The other children had fallen silent, too, staring at her with just as wide eyes as the unfortunate boy.

She tried not to look too intimidating, which was considerably difficult with her being an 8 foot oxwoman.

“Are you alright?”

Adaar’s shadow fell over the culprit, as it always did with humans. The boy blinked before shaking his head, still staring at her with wide eyes.

It didn’t seem like any of the children would speak up at first, but then the smallest of them, a girl that couldn’t be older than five or six years, slowly stumbled forward, her eyes trained on Adaar’s face far above the ground. Two small hands extended and before the others could hold her back, she patted the area around Adaar’s knee carefully and told her: “You must have had lots of spinach to grow this tall.”

While Cullen was chuckling quietly behind her, Adaar wasn’t sure what to answer, partly baffled and partly amused by the little girl – who took her chance to ask: “Is Uncle Varric so tiny because you ate all of his, too?”

At which point Cullen didn’t hold back anymore, Josephine at least tried to hide her amusement and Cassandra and Leliana were both grinning broadly.

Before Adaar, now deeply amused, too, could answer her little admirer, a new voice interrupted them. “Why don’t you all go and ask Varric that? I’m sure he’ll tell you a story about it.”

Heads turned, until everyone was facing Hawke, who looked just as amused as them. It was rare to see her in the courtyard – she much preferred spending her time on the walls, overlooking the stronghold and keeping to herself. At days, that was. The nights... Adaar had a clue about why Varric disappeared from the tavern earlier than usual these days.

“You’re the hawk!” the boy who’d jumped into Adaar muttered in awe and the other kids started whispering, too.

“I’m Hawke, yes. And I gather Varric has told you about me?”

“You fought a dragon!” One of the older girls with a dirt-smudged face and a wooden sword tied to her waist exclaimed, and one of the other boys added: “And the evil Darkspawn that attacked Haven!”

“Just like you did!” The small girl at Adaar’s knee muttered to her, her small hands twisting into the Herald’s trousers almost unconsciously.

“Can you _teach_ us?” the girl with the sword now asked, looking at the two women. It seemed like the children had somehow forgotten to be intimidated by either Adaar or Hawke – although it had a lot to do with Hawke don’t looking half as intimidating naturally as Adaar did.

“If you excuse us,” Josephine told Adaar with a look at the children and started gathering her papers. “We will postpone this meeting.”

“You don’t have to-“

“Oh yes. If the Champion and you teach them how to defeat Corypheus, we might not even need you two anymore,” Cullen told her gleefully, suddenly seeming much younger and more relaxed than he ever had before. It was as if the beautiful day and the children’s carelessness had taken away a bit of stress and seriousness from him, if only for a moment.

And then Adaar’s council was gone and she and Hawke were surrounded by a bunch of children.

Hawke didn’t seem much more used to children than she was, either, but Adaar had the feeling she would adapt to the situation quickly enough. And maybe spending time with these kids wouldn’t be too bad. It certainly was better than endless discussions about the one or the other nobleman and the support he might grant the Inquisition – no matter how important that was, it was also... boring.

She was pulled out of her musings by fierce tug on her trousers. The girl had raised her arms again and it took Adaar a second to understand she wanted to be lifted up. On second glance, she looked even younger under the dirt in her face. Four, maybe. Not more than five anyway.

Adaar bent down and two tiny arms wrapped around her instantly. She held the girl in one arm and felt two hands slowly creeping up the side of her head until she could touch the horns on Adaar’s head carefully.

“I’m Lani,” the girl told her, “and your horns are very pretty!”

“They’re not pretty, they’re deadly!” The girl with the sword corrected her and two of the boys nodded in agreement. “She can poke templars with them!”

“No she can’t! They are curly and pretty!” Lani disagreed and Adaar grinned when she saw her poke her tongue out at the boys who had no chance of reaching her from her position in the Inquisitor’s arms.

“The Inquisitor pokes templars with her sword, I believe,” Hawke intervened before the group on the ground could start tackling Adaar to get to Lani.

This resulted into a choir of “Show us! Show us!”

Adaar and Hawke exchanged looks before the Tal-Vashoth told the children: “I’m sure Hawke and I can teach you something, but who will we be fighting?”

Parents as well as scholars would probably have been horrified at the offer the Inquisitor had just made and Hawke was wondering, too, if that offer was child-friendly, but she figured that there was no harm in a little entertainment. It wasn’t like they were actually going to slaughter something in front of their eyes.

Said eyes now roamed over the courtyard questioningly, trying to find something more interesting to fight than the wooden dummies Cassandra usually trained with. Something – or rather someone – quickly caught their eyes then.

The Iron Bull and his Chargers were going through their semi-regular practice next to the tavern and the children gasped in awe when Krem, Dalish and Rocky went for the giant Qunari simultaneously and – landed on their bottoms one after the other.

“You can fight _him_ ,” the girl with the sword (she still hadn’t offered a name) whispered, which elicited cheers from the rest of the kids.

“I’m not sure he has time-“ Hawke started and while Adaar had wondered about the exact same thing, Hawke seemed to prefer to keep a respectful distance to the Reaver.

However, her objection was more or less ignored by everyone as the whole group started running towards the exercising Chargers, who thankfully stopped whirling around weapons as the small humans approached.

“He let Ben have some beer the day before yesterday,” Lani, who had remained in the Inquisitor’s arms, whispered in her ear before she seemed to realize its pointy-ness and giggled when she touched it.

“Of course he did,” the Inquisitor sighed and exchanged a look with Hawke. “Maybe we should collect the children again before he starts handing out daggers. Not that there are many left, they seem to be disappearing as of lately. Someone found a whole barrel full of them last week.”

Hawke, who had been watching the Qunari and the children closely the whole time – they had succeeded in ‘tackling’ him to the ground and tried to hold him down, which he allowed for the moment, even though he would have been easily able to shake them off – nodded.

“Just in case they accidentally kill him,” the Champion added. “Can you imagine a bunch of children in charge of the Chargers?”

“Is it very horrible to admit that I can just imagine that?” Adaar grinned and Hawke mirrored it before they started their way over to the Bull and the children at a more leisurely pace.

As they stepped closer, they watched the giant Qunari being climbed by children. “He’s good with them,” Hawke noticed.

“You sound surprised.”

“Well, yes.”

“I’m surprised, too,” Adaar admitted, smiling slightly. “You were just quicker to voice it.” They looked on, before she asked: “You had bad experience with Qunari before, hadn’t you?”

“Well, the whole Arishok-situation could have passed more peacefully – I wouldn’t have minded that, no,” Hawke admitted. “But... your people in general are different. Not everyone’s the Arishok.”

“They’re not my people. Nor the Bull’s, for that matter. We are Tal-Vashoth.”

“Right, I’m sorry.”

Adaar was surprised. “You know what it means?”

“Picked up a couple of things while I tried to stay alive, yeah. I learned that you have to watch your words around Qunari.”

“Those following the Qun, especially the warriors and of course the TRIUMBLABLA attach importance to correct labelling, yes. I’ve never really experienced it myself, but the Bull knows.”

Hawke nodded in understanding, but noticed: “You make sure to be called Tal-Vashoth, though.”

Adaar froze for a moment, then smiled lightly. “I suppose you’re right. Maybe it’s a thing with Qunari as a race.”

“Is it like making a difference between Dalish and city elves, though they’re technically all elves?”

“Maybe.” Adaar narrowed her eyebrows. “I honestly don’t understand a lot of what’s going on with those under the Qun. I’ve just... never known it.”

Hawke nodded again, and then they fell silent for a moment, watching the spectacle in front of their eyes.

Two children were dangling from either horn of the Bull, squealing in delight as he carefully shook his head, making them dizzy.

“What I was saying before, that I was surprised with how good he is with children - that sounded overly bitter. I’m not, I swear,” Hawke suddenly told her, eyes not leaving the children. “I... in a way, I understood the Qunari in Kirkwall – at least in so far that a couple of people there treated them less than human – in a manner of speaking.”

“If it helps – the Arishok didn’t exactly have consent from Par Vollen for the whole Kirkwall situation,” Adaar told her, recalling what she had been told. “And from the way Varric describes it, it must’ve been one hell of a fight.”

Hawke’s hand sneaked towards her stomach. “I have a couple of scars to show from it, yes.” With a look to The Iron Bull, she shrugged. “Not as many as he does, though.”

Adaar followed her look. “He wouldn’t have half of them, but he keeps scratching when they heal. Vivienne tries to get him to stop, though. It’s... working.”

“A big Ben-Hassrath, playing with kids and afraid of a single woman.” Hawke chuckled in amusement. “I think I like my Qunari better that way.”

“Perhaps a glowing mark that can close rifts also helps with that?”

Hawke nodded. “It does come in handy-“ they both made a face at that horrible pun, before they started laughing, which attracted the attention of everyone near them. The Bull narrowed his eyes and Adaar was sure he was trying to read their expressions.

“Hawke! Just when I made such a good job of covering up the bad puns you make,” a voice came from behind them and the two women turned to face Varric.

Adaar had the distinct feeling that Hawke was on the brim of poking her tongue out at the dwarf and only her dignity as the Champion of Kirkwall prevented her from doing so. Instead, the Herald watched how an amused glint appeared in the shorter woman’s eyes before she looked over her shoulder and called: “Hey, look who’s here! I believe you wanted to ask Varric a couple of questions about spinach?”

The last thing Adaar heard from Varric was a muttered “Maker-“ before a pile of children nearly waltzed him down, all bubbling with excitement at the prospect of being able to ask the rogue all of their questions and maybe even get a story out of him.

“You worry about being impaled again,” the soft, sonorous voice of the Bull came from behind them as Adaar and Hawke watched Varric with the kids. Hawke remained in a relaxed position, although Adaar was fairly certain the Champion would be ready to defend herself within a second if she felt threatened.

“Not the worst thing to worry about,” she replied with a small grin. “You’ve heard the story?”

“Yes. But I also noticed the way you rest your hand over your stomach. And your eyes flinched towards my horns twice.” He laughed. “Don’t worry, impaling people on them is too messy.”

Hawke made an impressed face. “You’re not a half-bad spy.”

“I know.” They measured each other for a moment, Hawke’s bright blue eyes focusing on the Bull’s one before he lowered his head slightly. “The Iron Bull, Captain of the Bull’s Chargers.”

“Pleased to meet you.”

He cocked his head. “You mean it.”

Hawke smirked. “I do. Always be friendly to the people you’re supposed to be mock-fighting is my motto.”

“It’s gonna be spectacular!” sword-girl exclaimed and gripped her sword tighter as if she planned on slaying the Bull herself.

However, the Qunari crossed two impressively muscular arms over an even more impressive chest and shook his head. “I will not play at being a demon. They give me the creeps.”

“So you’re scared of demons?” Lani asked, the only child nearly on eyelevel with the Bull.

He fixed her with his good eye. “Of course I am. Anyone in their right mind is. Possessing people, meddling with their brains – plenty of reasons to be scared of them.” He let his eye roam over the rest of the children. “Everybody is afraid of something, even if they tell you they aren’t. Here’s a lesson: if you find out what people are afraid of, you understand them better. Makes it easier to kill them.”

“Or make friends with them,” Hawke added, and although it sounded more like a reminder for the kids that not everything had to be about brutality, Adaar felt the truth behind her words. “When you’re afraid of something, having a friend at your side is the best,” Hawke continued, her eyes flickering briefly towards Varric.

“But still - why would you admit you’re scared of ‘em demons then? Somebody might kill you!” the boy who’d jumped into Adaar asked confusedly, but the Bull started laughing so loudly people turned around to see what was going on.

When he’d calmed down enough, he actually grinned down at the little boy and told him: “They can _try_!”

“But if you’re not gonna be our monster, who will play the baddie?” another boy asked, his brows furrowed tightly.

“Maybe the Seeker can be Corypheus,” the Bull suggested, still chuckling lightly.

“She’s terrifying enough for it,” Varric muttered in agreement.

The sword-girl cocked her head. “Lady Cassandra is always so grumpy. I doubt she’ll play.” She turned her attention back on the Bull. “But maybe you can be a dragon instead? You have horns and everything!”

Varric smirked. “You never know until you ask the Seeker. I’m not sure how she will react to being called a ‘lady’, though. It’s worth a try!”

“A dragon’s even better than Corphy-... Croy-... the mean one!” Lani decided, though, while the other kids nodded enthusiastically.

“Don’t let Corypheus hear that,” Hawke muttered drily to Adaar, who smirked.

“ _Or_ you could all return to playing tag and we’ll save Tiny the embarrassment of being slain by two heroines with wooden swords,” Varric suggested, sensing that even if it was just a pretend fight, it wasn’t exactly a good idea to have even more attention drawn to Hawke, much less have the fight turn into a steamy Qunari make-out session in front of the kids – who knew what Adaar and Tiny got up to in their free time.

“But it’s boring – no one will play with us!” the boy who’d jumped into Adaar earlier complained.

“Yeah. We always know where everyone will run off to and it’s easy to catch them,” the girl with the sword added.

“Then have a contest about who gets to the garden quickest or something,” Adaar tried to provide a new idea, but only earned questioning looks for it. “It’s even a bit of soldier training,” she added, trying to sell it to the kids. “You can train to be faster and find the quickest way through enemy lines.”

Hawke, understanding what the Inquisitor was getting at, tried to explain it some more. “You decide on a certain route, put up a few obstacles-“

“Like a dragonling!” The Iron Bull interjected gleefully.

“Or _crates_ , you know – safe things that don’t breathe fire at small children-“ Varric interjected.

Sword-girl pouted. “We could _easily_ fight a dragonling!”

“-as I was saying: obstacles,” Hawke finished. “And then you make a run for the gardens, see who gets there first.”

Most of the children seemed to understand now and enthusiasm was slowly growing on their faces but little Lani didn’t seem too happy. She was probably too small to partake, anyway, but her face darkened by the minute. “I don’t understand!” She even stomped her little foot.

“Show them,” the Bull suggested.

“What’s wrong with reading a book?” Varric muttered to himself. “It always has to be running around and tumbling over rocks and other nature-y things.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be the one doing the running,” Hawke reminded him and looked at Adaar. “You in?”

When she’d joined the Inquisition, a glowing green mark in her hand that almost killed her, Adaar would have never thought she would end up racing the Champion of Kirkwall to entertain a couple of kids at a hidden fortress in the mountains. But as much as the world needed saving – it couldn’t always be about being earnest and a growly grey oxwoman.

“One time around the courtyard and to the garden?”

Hawke nodded. “Turning point is the stable. Jump over as many things as you find.”

“You’re on.”

The kids’ eyes were wide now, and even Varric and the Bull looked fairly alert – the Champion of Kirkwall and their Inquisitor would race each other? It sounded like the beginning of one of Varric’s stories. While Adaar gestured for the children to step aside and scratched a thin starting line into the ground with the wooden sword of the older girl, Hawke shed the heavier pieces of her armour and without further ado thrust them into Varric’s arms.

“On my command-“ the Bull called and Adaar bent her knees while Hawke hunkered down.

“Ready? GO!”

And off they went.

Within the first couple of seconds, Adaar realized that Hawke was much quicker due to her training as a rogue, but kept back for an unknown reason.

The reason, however, became obvious quickly when she called: “Want to get some real exercise done?” and Adaar grinned at her in agreement. Which was when Hawke let loose, just like Adaar did.

They were just running down the steps towards where the crowd had gathered during the ceremony that had made Adaar Inquisitor when Hawke jumped on the handrail and catapulted herself into the air, flinging herself across the area in an instant – and she would have landed safely had Adaar not used a empty barrel to jump, too, and crash into her mid-air.

Hawke might have been quicker, but if Adaar kept her occupied, it wouldn’t be of much use to her.

The two women tumbled to the ground in a heap, but both were back on their feet instantly and raced on, Hawke using even the smallest edges and obstacles to hop forward while Adaar had levered herself off the ground with the help of a flagstaff and had landed on the roof of the stables, just when Hawke had grabbed onto a windowsill of the barn next door.

“Top of the roof!” Adaar panted and Hawke nodded in agreement before she disappeared inside the barn to use the steps.

Adaar knew there was no way she could use the same way so she quickly scanned the area and, with a powerful jump, pulled herself up on the main wall surrounding Skyhold, swinging up until she could balance on the battlement. She ran towards the rooftop and reached it just as Hawke tore through the trap door.

For a moment, they stood panting, smirking at each other, before Hawke propelled herself forward, crashing into Adaar and sending both of them over the edge.

They were distantly aware of a gasp – no doubt a crowd must have been forming in addition to their child admirers, Varric, and the Bull, but Hawke had of course noticed the haystack at the foot of the wall and they landed with a ‘poof’, hay flying everywhere.

Neither of them lost any time peeling themselves out of the hay and they were running again before they even thought about it. And suddenly they were around the corner, up the stairs and in the throne room.

“Left!” Adaar shouted and Hawke followed the command instantly, leaping over the dwarf who wanted to study the mosaics Adaar had found on her travels and flinging the door open. Adaar followed only a second later.

Their chase went up a staircase until they reached the second floor, where Hawke threw open another door, glancing back over her shoulder at Adaar before stepping out.

Adaar’s eyes widened when she realized where the door was heading but it was already too late and, following an impulse, she raced through, too - only to crash into Hawke, who had been waiting in the door frame. She, too, had realized the wooden floor was rotting and the wall facing the garden _wasn’t there_ , but the force with which Adaar crashed into her send them both right through the non-existent wall and into freefall down into the garden.

While still in the air, Adaar reached out for Hawke’s hand and yanked the Champion close, curling around her as best as she could – and then they crashed into what was now the remains of a tool shed with a enormous thud and an even bigger cloud of dust.

When the dirt had finally subsided, two things were obvious: one, their little race had attracted quite _a lot_ of attention and the crowd of worried people was parted by the large figure of The Iron Bull, followed by Varric and the children. Two – the garden needed a new tool shed.

Hawke was slowly getting to her feet, extending her hand to Adaar, who took it thankfully, groaning as she got up, too. She’d taken most of the impact, shielding the more fragile human with her body and the bruises were already starting to bloom. Also, both of them were covered in not only dust, but the remains of gardening soil that had been stored in the small shed.

“And this is how you don’t do it, kids,” Varric finally stated, his voice causing the worried whispers of everyone around them to stop.

“It looked fun, though!” The Bull stated, clearly entertained by the whole scenario.

“I want to jump down from really high places, too!” Sword-girl announced, face red with over-excitement. The other kids didn’t look any less hyped.

Adaar and Hawke were still regaining their breath and surely would have needed another moment before they could have talked to children again – if the crowd didn’t suddenly part for the measured, yet clearly admonishing looking figure of Mother Giselle.

Perhaps the gardens of Skyhold, a place of peace and retreat, weren’t supposed to be abused as racing finish lines. Hawke sent a pleading look towards Varric who acted unimpressed for a moment, but when she redoubled her effort at puppy eyes, he shook his head at her, but smiled.

“Alright everyone, I’m sure if you ask Blackwall nicely, he’ll help you set up a stack of hay to jump into behind the stables. The Inquisitor and Hawke need to clean up their mess now, so you can run along.”

Most of the kids already seemed amenable to the suggestion, but one of the boys couldn’t help but linger behind, a quizzical look on his face. “But the Inquisitor is like everyone’s boss! Why does she have to clean up?”

Varric smirked. “You know Lady Vivienne, right?”

“The scary lady?”

“I’m not sure if she’d be pleased or angry if you said that to her face. But yes. So, Lady Vivienne really hates a mess and if the Inquisitor doesn’t clean up, Lady Vivienne might turn her into a goat. Not forever, just a couple of hours. But I hear it’s terrifying.”

The boy narrowed his eyebrows. “Can she really do that?”

Varric nodded, making wide eyes at the child. “I’ve seen her do it!” He beckoned the boy a bit closer and told him in a more secretive tone: “You know, the Iron Bull used to have no horns at all, but one day, he accidentally knocked over her coffee table and she turned him into a goat. Only when she turned him back, she forgot about his horns and that’s how he ended up getting them!”

Although the crowd had dispensed when Mother Giselle had threatened them silently and it was clear that the show was over, the few people remaining in the garden started to smile at Varric’s story – not openly, though, since the Bull was still around and no-one knew how he’d react to it.

The only people openly laughing – in between laboured gasps for breath from the former exhaustion – were Hawke and the Inquisitor, underlined by little-boy-giggles.

The Iron Bull simply grunted, but an amused glint in his eye proved that he wasn’t annoyed by the comment.

“Now run along with the others,” Varric ordered the boy, who followed the order immediately with one last admiring look towards the two Qunari and the Champion of Kirkwall and one slightly fearful glance to Vivienne’s balcony.

“I’ll leave you to it,” the Bull then told them and, facing the Inquisitor, he added: “You might want to stop by later, boss.”

Adaar nodded and then she and Hawke slowly started gathering the broken pieces of wood and tools, sorting them into piles and disposing of anything that was beyond repair. Varric, in the meantime, supervised everything from a bench in the sun, basking in the warmth as well as the feeling of the utterly peaceful, holiday-like spring day.

“You know, you could just help us,” Hawke called over to him at one point, but he simply flashed her a smile and called back: “No, thank you!”

oOo

Varric grinned when Hawke flopped down in the alcove of his room, sunlight flooding her dusty, exhausted body. A soft spring breeze was coming in from the open window, with just a touch of chill announcing the evening. “I haven’t seen you like this in ages.”

She blinked one eye open in what seemed to be abysmal effort. “What, covered in dust and sweaty?”

He laughed. “That, too. But I meant... alive.”

“Well, if I don’t get something to eat soon, I just might start drooling all over the place and kill people. Like the Undead.”

“Hawke.”

She sighed, still unmoving in the spot of sunlight. “Look, I’m fine. You know I always am.”

“No, I know you always _say_ you are.”

“Well, a 160 pound Qunari tackled me two stories down a castle and into a tool shed. I think that counts as a rough day.”

Varric squeezed into the alcove next to her, propped up against the wall while she poured down from the bench onto the floor in a Hawke-esque waterfall. The position had to be uncomfortable, especially after the tumble with the Inquisitor, but for now, she seemed utterly content. “It wasn’t a rough day, though. You were enjoying yourself. You had _fun_ ,” he observed.

“You make it sound like I never have fun!” she accused him, the mock a subtle undertone in her voice.

“Usually you having fun is not suited for children,” he reminded her, laughing.

With a groan and some effort, she dragged herself up into a sitting position, mirroring the way he sat against the wall while placing her legs on either side of him to fit into the small space. The sun was still on her face and highlighted the faintly reddening skin on the tip of her nose and forehead.

Varric grinned when he remembered countless sunburns whenever they’d spent too much outside. For all the running-around-in-the-wilderness person that Hawke was, her light skin burnt so easily it was ridiculous. Also, adorable, but Varric refused to use that preposterous adjective.

“Have you ever thought about children?” she suddenly asked, blinking at him curiously. “Having your own, I mean,” she added in an afterthought.

It was difficult to tell if she was being serious or not. “Maybe?” Varric tried, and let his gaze roam outside the window. “I haven’t had much time to think about it, what with the constant world-saving people around me tend to do.”

“You’re good with kids, though,” Hawke observed, obviously referring to earlier.

He chuckled. “Doesn’t mean I’m qualified to have them. Daisy is good with blood magic – doesn’t mean she should use it.”

Hawke raised an eyebrow at him, and he continued: “Besides, you weren’t half-bad either. Just stick to running _without_ breaking things the next time.”

“I’ll make sure to remember.” She sighed. “Funny. I remember not wanting kids for a long time. Bethany always wanted kids but she was scared of losing them to a Circle and Carver... he would have been a great dad even if he always scoffed at the younger children in Lothering. Mother always said she couldn’t wait to spoil her grandchildren rotten.” She laughed at the memory and Varric, too, remembered Leandra and her generosity fondly.

“And then, suddenly, we had this estate in Kirkwall, and more money than we could possibly spend and my mother started dating again and I... I remember thinking that maybe there was still time for.. well, for at least me to have kids,” Hawke continued. “And that they would grow up happy, in a big house with enough food and everything a kid _should_ have.” She laughed. “A dog. I think I would have wanted them to have a dog.”

Varric felt like he should maybe reach out, but ultimately stayed where he was, content with moving one of his legs just so his thigh came in contact with Hawke’s leg. Warmth spread where they touched. “It sounds like you changed your mind again.”

She shrugged. “The Arishok and the rebellion happened. And we’ve been on the run ever since. Besides... I didn’t even know if you wanted to. And if it even was possible.”

Varric’s eyes snapped open. “Wait. You thought about having kids – with me?” Somehow, the thought seemed so utterly strange, so... impossible that he simply had to ask this, even if, in an afterthought, it sounded like the most stupid thing he’d ever uttered.

Hawke blinked confusedly. “Of course. I mean, not at the very beginning, no. But after we’d been together for a while it just... seemed so obvious – who else would it be?”

“Right.” Varric paused for a moment, trying to regain his metaphorical balance.

“It’s okay if you didn’t think about it or if you think it’s stupid. Just popped into my head,” she quickly told him and although she didn’t sound hurt, he actually felt like he needed to reassure her that, well, he hadn’t meant to hurt her.

True, he’d never spent a single thought on becoming a parent. And trying to picture an indefinite number of children tumbling through his – well, not his room at the Hanged Man, you couldn’t raise children in a tavern after all – his... study (wherever that would be) was a challenge even for his creative mind. There would be squeals and a mess and ink dripping onto parchment. A dog, a Mabari most likely, chasing these kids, slobbering everywhere. Big eyes when the kids begged for just one more bedtime story. _Everyone pretending to enjoy Hawke’s – usually disastrous – attempts at cooking._ Hawke with _their_ kids.

“Honestly, I really haven’t thought about it,” he told her finally and rested his right hand on her knee. She looked at him expectantly. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t see it.” He clicked his tongue. “Look, dwarfs are not exactly reproducing like nugs. It’s not as bad once you’ve been away from the Deep Roads for a long time but even then it’s still rare. And I really don’t know if you being human makes it more complicated or not. But... I’m willing to commit to lengthy testing to find out the truth, if you’re so inclined.” He winked. “We’re not too old.”

For a heartbeat, she stared at him with a blank face, but slowly, the corners of her mouth turned upwards. “If that means shagging all day long, count me in.”

“Oh, I was rather counting on you,” he told. “Just don’t go running around before. Can’t have you in a state like this-“ he gestured towards her lax, sweaty and slightly dusty frame, “- when I plan to keep you up all night. This is our weekly trips to Sundermount all over again – we’d come back home and you’d be sleeping like a log.”

“ _I_ don’t recall much sleeping happening,” Hawke mused with a smirk on her face and Varric laughed at the suggestive wriggle of eyebrows.

“Point taken. However, lots of sleeping, and in different rooms, will happen tonight if someone doesn’t take a bath,” he threatened with a grin and just to prove himself wrong, he got up from his seat and moved over to press a quick kiss to her lips.

“Point taken, too. I’ll go and have a scrub down and then-“

“Ah, but here comes the good news,” Varric announced, realizing Hawke didn’t know everything about Skyhold yet – well, technically, no-one besides Leliana, Josephine, Cullen and him knew about this special little surprise yet because they had only just discovered it this morning. It had been the reason to why he had come to the courtyard to speak with the Inquisitor in the first place.

“We-are-going-on-a-Deep-Roads-expedition good news or Corypheus-died-of-a-heart-attack-and-the-world-is-safe-again good news?”

“Construction-made-a-break-through-and-found-a-hot-spring good news.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ADORABLE HAWKE+VARRIC-BABIES. JUST PICTURE THEM. DO IT. And yes, I believe there were good days at Skyhold, too.  
> Thanks for the kudos!  
> \- Hanna


	4. The Calm Before the Storm

Hawke was staring straight ahead in a mix of absolute delight and utter surprise. Varric had to admit the sight was something for sore eyes. Even with the rubble piling high in the corners of the room and the hastily placed and lit torches that barely provided enough light not to break one’s neck, the former beauty of the room was obvious.

A summerstone wall parted the room in the middle and to either side of the wall were two large basins carved into the stone, from which a light steam was wafting through the air. There were stone benches on which one could place towels and bathing utensils and the subsurface stream that supplied the hot water was powerful enough to keep the pools clean even when a, say, covered-in-tool-shed-dust Champion of Kirkwall would take a bath.

“Lord Tethras, you are a wicked man.” Hawke sighed dreamily at the sight of the steam and bubbling water and her hand sneaked towards the nape of Varric’s neck where she stroked gently. Her slender fingers there always sent shivers down Varric’s spine.

“Anything for my la-“

“This place is marvellous, if severely lacking taste in decor or basic hygiene measures!” a silk voice interrupted Varric quite rudely. They turned, Hawke’s fingers disappearing from his neck as if they’d never been there, and they faced the Inquisitor, who was followed by Vivienne and Dorian. Latter having been the one admiring and complaining at the same time.

“You are absolutely right, my dear,” Vivienne now told him and eyed the pebble in the corners of the room carefully.

“I thought you might like it here. You are the one’s... _lamenting_ Skyhold’s lack of comfort the most,” the Inquisitor told them with a sly grin.

“It’s interesting how many words you can come up with for ‘complaining’,” Varric noted drily, still a bit sour about having been interrupted.

“I’m more than just a reading lamp on legs, you know,” Adaar countered and wriggled the fingers of her left hand, where the Anchor was glowing slightly. That made everyone laugh, even though Vivienne only smiled dignified and Varric found himself trying to still be grumpy but failing spectacularly, especially as he heard Hawke’s laughter.

“Well, as much potential as this place has, I won’t set a foot in the water until everything’s been cleaned properly,” Vivienne then decided, but Dorian seemed less inclined to leave. Just when Madame de Fer had turned to leave, new footsteps came closer and she passed Cullen, Josephine and Cole, who followed the two advisors almost silently and startled the crap out of Cullen when he finally noticed him.

“Does anything in this fortress stay a secret for long?” Hawke wondered out loud and Adaar shook her head, smiling.

“Nothing but Leliana’s work.”

“Some secrets remain, hidden in plain sight. Not so secret after all. Will they find out? Can they keep it hidden? So close to losing each other again. Torn between knowing that the secret protects them and wanting to tell everyone, to make them see.” Cole’s face was hidden below his giant hat like usual, but while the other’s weren’t quite sure who this was about, Hawke’s body tightened next to Varric and he, too, focused his attention on the spirit.

Thankfully, no-one seemed inclined to decipher his cryptic message this time.

“Where’s Sera?” Cullen asked, glancing around.

“She’s not here. Why?” Adaar cocked her head.

The Commander shrugged. “Well, she’s the one going on about these springs in the tavern. I figured she might be here.”

Adaar was confused. “Where would she have picked up about them, though? She hasn’t left her room all day – I saw her sitting at the window, watching the children in the courtyard.”

“Someone in the tavern must’ve talked.”

Varric and Hawke exchanged glances and tried very hard not to look guilty. They succeeded, but mostly because Josephine piped up: “If she talked about this in the tavern, then more people would be here-“

“Chief, it’s down here! Watch your horns, I’m not prying you free _again_.”

“Do the Bull and his Chargers count as ‘people’?” Dorian inquired smugly and Josephine stared at him somewhat irritated, although she hid it well behind her usual, polite expression.

“It’s shite, innit? Building somethin’ like this underground. Could’ve built it somewhere less underground, but no.” That speech pattern was distinctive, too.

“I think Sera might be offended if we called her ‘people’,” Adaar added but smiled at her advisor to take the mock out of her words.

And soon enough, there was a rather large group of people gathered in the small bathroom. Well, not small, per se – but small if you counted two Qunari, five humans, an elf and a dwarf. And a spirit. They always forgot to count the spirit.

“I think there need to be some ground rules,” Cullen observed, his forehead wrinkled at the crowd.

So ground rules they sat.

X

The magical barrier was cackling quietly in the background while the women relaxed in the hot water. They had actually waited one more night – Varric had taken immense pleasure in cleaning Hawke up thoroughly in his suite the night before – while workers, with the help of the willing mages in Skyhold, had cleaned up the place nicely.

It was now not only rubble-free, but had an assortment of fragrant oils lined up for public use, as well as towels and a magical barrier separating the men from the women and preventing eaves-dropping. Cullen had of course been right in suspecting it was so the gossip remained a secret, but no one had given him the satisfaction of proving him right openly.

Adaar and Hawke had gotten in first, before Josephine and Sera had joined them minutes later. At first, it had been awkward to bathe with so many strangers, but the relaxing effect of the water had quickly won Hawke over and it helped that the others hadn’t exactly bathed together before, either.

Vivienne had joined them unexpectedly, clad in a silk bathrobe and soon claiming more space than absolutely necessary in the basin. Her presence had the advantage of a spell that somehow made the water smell even better than the oils would ever have managed and a mixture of sharp lime and soft Embrium blossoms soon filled the chamber.

They hadn’t been sitting in the large tub for long when the arrival of Cassandra interrupted the pleased sighs that escaped everyone once in a while and stopped Sera from twitchily eyeing her surroundings.

Cassandra seemed mildly surprised at the small gathering and shifted from one leg on the other. “Oh, I didn’t realize so many would be here. Maybe I should come back later.”

“Not at all! There is plenty of room left if you wanted to join us,” Josephine told her diplomatically – technically, she was right. Adaar even pulled her legs a bit closer, what with her being the one taking up the most space. (Ignoring Vivienne, who basked in the knowledge that no-one would have dared asking her to make room.)

Cassandra still didn’t look convinced and her eyes shifted to the wall, where only the steam of the other tub was visible, since the magical barrier didn’t just stop attempts at peeking, but also drowned out any sound either party made.

“The boys are over there if you want to join them but with the Bull’s giant arse there might not be much room,” Sera told her good-naturedly.

This only seemed to add to Cassandra’s hesitance, but before anyone else could be ‘helpful’, she shook her head and started shedding her clothes, folding them carefully on a pile next to the colourful pieces of Josephine’s outfit and climbed into the tub with the utmost dignified look she could muster.

Which wasn’t of much use because she slipped on the slippery edge of the tub and, with a high-pitched yelp, splashed into the water, soaking everyone before sending them into hysterical giggles while Cassandra came back to the surface, the short strands of her hair plastered to her forehead and her face redder than they’d ever seen her before.

She was mortified for a minute, staring intently at the water surface while the others couldn’t stop laughing, but finally she met Adaar’s eyes and while she didn’t exactly smile, she seemed more disgruntled at herself than at the others.. “I’m sorry. This should have gone a lot smoother.”

“I think it going ‘smooth’ was the key problem here,” Hawke noticed, which sent everyone into a fit of laughter again and even Cassandra herself joined with a soft chuckle although her cheeks were still flaming red and she couldn’t look Hawke in the eye.

Something about ‘idolizing her’ popped into the rogue’s mind, Varric’s amusement ringing in her ears when he’d told her about the Seeker’s presumed ‘hero-boner’. It occurred to her she’d never actually been face to face with her like that. Not naked in the tub, of course, but generally. War Table meetings, yes. But never in an unofficial surrounding.

“We should have discovered this earlier,” Adaar stated when everyone had calmed down again and Cassandra’s face had regained at least some of its natural colour.

Josephine nodded in agreement. “Absolutely. Maybe if we sat Corypheus in a tub and have him relax for a while, we could just reason with him.”

“I’m not getting into a tub with him,” Sera announced, shuddering slightly and sinking deeper until the water went up to her nose and only her eyes glanced around.

“Maybe Cole would. He likes helping,” Cassandra suggested.

“Solas and Varric would never let him near Corypheus – they’re like parents when it comes to him. Bickering, married-for-fifty-years-and-going-on-each-others’-nerves parents.” Josephine grinned and the others, besides Hawke, nodded.

“Who’s Cole?” she inquired, trying to recall a face matching the name.

“He was here yesterday, scared our poor Commander Cullen,” Vivienne explained. “Enormous and not very fashionable hat? Comments on the thoughts of people?”

Slowly, recognition lit in Hawke’s eyes. “I... forgot about him.”

“We all do. That is, besides Inquisitor Adaar and Solas, it seems,” Josephine explained. “He’s a spirit – at least we think he is.”

“ _It_ is creepy,” Sera provided with doom in her voice, only rising above water level so she could talk, before she sunk down again.

“So... whatever he is, Varric is taking care of him?”

“When Solas lets him, yes. You should see the two of them fussing over him,” Adaar confirmed and Hawke shook her head, smiling slightly.

“Just like with Merrill...” A ball of twine, a nickname and long walks through the alienage to make sure the young Dalish returned home safely came to Hawke’s mind. When she focused again, all eyes were on her, interest hidden more or less well. She didn’t want to dive into this conversation, though, so she simply shook her head and muttered: “Nothing, sorry.”

Thankfully, the women returned to a different topic again. Which was-

“So... you and The Iron Bull, yes?” Vivienne fixed her gaze on Adaar interestedly. “I suppose it should have been obvious to me earlier.”

Adaar looked equally confused and amused. “How’s that?”

“My dear, I saw you two practically hopping down in front of the bloody carcass of a High Dragon. All that was missing was a children’s song and the two of you going ring-a-ring-a-roses.”

“Cassandra’s killed a dragon, too. Your logic’s shite,” Sera informed Vivienne and Hawke suspected it was dignity that kept the Court Enchanter from conjuring up a wave to drown the elf. “She’s into that sissy romantic stuff anyway.”

“I- Sera!” Cassandra interrupted her, eyes flaring wildly while Sera giggled.

“Well, I hear that The Iron Bull does have romantic qualities,” Josephine provided with a smile.

“You _hear_? Don’t you mean that’s what you gathered from when Cullen, Cassandra and you barged in on us?” Adaar asked, grinning when the other two women groaned.

“I still have the picture burnt into my eyelids,” the Seeker complained.

Adaar shrugged. “The door was closed for a reason.”

“I feel like I’m missing out on something here,” Hawke said with fake lament in her voice, finding herself relaxing into the company of mostly strangers by the minute.

The Inquisitor was nice, as was Josephine. Sera was a bit... crazy, but her crude manner reminded Hawke strangely of an even-more-batshit version of Isabela. Cassandra seemed torn between dignity and genuine care for her companions and Vivienne was _not_ torn between dignity and anything else at all.

Josephine winked. “You actually missed out on quite a lot.“

“Can we just agree not to discuss my private life with the _Champion of Kirkwall_ in the _tub_?”

“You don’t have a private life anymore, dear – comes with the title,” Vivienne reminded the Inquisitor sweetly.

“Also, Cassandra’s a hero – why don’t we discuss her- oh, _right_. _She doesn’t have one_.” Sera’s eyes lit up with mirth as Cassandra shot her an exasperated look.

“A man is not private life in Orlais, not exactly.” Josephine lifted one eyebrow. “If you manage a good catch, it’s very en vogue to brag about it at soirees – without attracting attention, of course. Well, without attracting the attention of the man’s wife, at least.”

“Are you sure that’s Orlais and not Rivain?” Hawke asked. “Because I have a friend who thinks the same thing. Well, when I say the ‘same’...”

“Rivaini wisdoms? Always appreciated.” Vivienne leaned back and watched Hawke expectantly, although she didn’t seem to be malicious in her mocking undertone.

“A woman needs three people in her life,” Hawke recalled what Isabela had stated drunkenly the other night, the alcohol in her breath just as obvious as the empty mugs in front of them. “One to make her happy, one to make her sad and one for sex.”

“That’s stupid though,” Sera mumbled. “Nobody needs a man for any of that!”

“It’s not so much that – I imagine it being really stressful, you know, with three of them around,” the Inquisitor wondered, but Vivienne shook her head.

“Men are easy to handle, my dear. They’re all the same, no matter how complicated they claim to be. Women can be more work, but if you’re skilled, they are just as easy to keep.”

“I’m not sure if ‘keeping’ is what one does in a relationship,” Cassandra questioned that explanation and Sera unexpectedly agreed with her, nodding vigorously before she added:

“And sharing’s not really my thing. Why share goodies when you can have them all for yourself.”

Josephine cocked her head. “Wouldn’t _they_ be sharing _you_ , instead of you them?”

“Don’t see the difference,” Sera stubbornly remained on her position.

“Why would you need someone to be sad with, though?” Cassandra didn’t seem convinced of Isabela’s wisdom yet, and Hawke smiled to herself when she remembered asking the exact same question.

All eyes turned back to Hawke, waiting for an explanation.

“I asked her the same question-“

Cassandra looked pleasantly surprised.

“-and she said that... that sometimes being sad was a good thing and that it made you human.”

“Well I’m not!” Sera crossed her arms over her chest, which would have been more impressive if she hadn’t been naked and in a bathtub. Adaar looked at her with a half-smile. For all that she announced she was not ‘elf-y’, she was also quick to denounce being anything else. She was and would always be... Sera.

“Neither am I, but it’s not about race...” Adaar elaborated.

“I’ve heard stories about people claiming they’d never felt more alive than when they were hurting,” Josephine added, staring off into the distance as if she recalled one of these stories right now. Then she snapped out of it, smiling helplessly. “All I know is that sometimes when Varric tells a really tragic story, I feel... I feel like it’s a _privilege_ , being _me_ \- that I’m so alive right now, as opposed to the tragic hero, who has to go through so much until they find peace. If-“

The Ambassador suddenly stopped herself, her eyes wandering to Hawke with an apologetic look, but the Champion didn’t seem to mind that Josephine was basically talking about the _Tale_. Without diving deeper into the matter of Hawke’s supposedly tragic-hero-life more, Josephine leaned back and closed her eyes in appreciation of the water, just like Vivienne had been doing all along.

However, the peace didn’t last long because Adaar thought loudly: “I don’t think I even know three men I would _like_ like that.”

“I thought you said The Iron Bull and you were serious?” Cassandra inquired, narrowing her eyes.

“We are,” the Inquisitor affirmed with a smile, “I’m only thinking out loud.”

“Well, why would you keep looking for someone to make you sad when you have found a person to be happy with,” the Seeker then suggested, somehow involuntarily siding with Sera.

“Don’t forget someone for the sex, Cassandra,” Vivienne reminded her impishly, knowing fully well that the Seeker would turn red again – which she did.

“My friend told me she was happy when she had sex, which would mean she’d need one man less already,” Hawke tried to help, but realized too late that not even she herself was sure if this was actually helping.

“And since I don’t need to be human-“ Adaar winked at Sera, who in return poked out her tongue with a grin, “- I can forget about the man to make me sad, too, which leaves me with one man only.”

“Whom you have already found,” Josephine added with a smile.

“Of course you could always try to make a better catch,” Vivienne reminded them and smiled when all eyes turned to her.

“Who would you pick, then? Of the lot here?” Hawke asked the question everyone had on their minds but wouldn’t dare to ask since judging Vivienne’s mood regarding question always was tricky at best.

They were lucky today, it seemed, because Vivienne laughed whole-heartedly and told her: “Not even a High Dragon could convince me to mingle with anyone here romantically.”

Sera muttered something that sounded suspiciously like ‘stuck up bitch’ but kept a close eye on the mage in case she decided to make the water boil around her or something.

“You cannot tell me none of our friends peek your interest?” Josephine seemed actually surprised.

“I can and in fact _did_ tell you that exact thing,” the enchanter reminded her softly and raised an eyebrow. “Who would you pick, then, if the choices are as delightful as you indicate?”

“Easy – Cullen or maybe Blackwall. They both seem to have something good hidden under all that armour.”

“Are we talking abs or, like, emotions and that shit?” Sera asked, a smirk already growing on her face. Adaar and Hawke snorted, while Cassandra stared straight ahead in a manner that suggested she was trying not to be amused.

Josephine laughed, too. “Both.” In an afterthought, she added: “Of course we have limited ourselves to the men – if I were to pick from the women, too, you would _of course_ be my first choice, Sera. Your... delightful scribbles certainly add to the reports and secret documents of the war table.”

Sera narrowed her brow, not quite sure if she was supposed to be flattered or not and settled for a “Yeah sure, whatever.”

Adaar cocked her head. “Do I have to go, too?”

“Absolutely!” Josephine smiled.

“Mmh... I think Dorian might be interesting.”

Vivienne laughed. “I’m afraid he won’t tell you the same thing, my dear.”

“Might still join you if you ask nicely,” Sera added her five cents.

“What are you talking about?” Cassandra turned from narrowing her eyes at Adaar to Vivienne, and finally to Sera – she knew she was missing out on something but couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

And while Adaar and Dorian never really had had a talk about it – simply because it didn’t really matter anyway – the whole ‘my family wants me to settle down with a nice girl and I’d rather poke out my eyeballs with a really sharp stick’ was at least a hint. As was the whole ‘my father tried to mush my brain with magic to make me a different person’. Vivienne seemed to know for sure, but then again, there wasn’t much she didn’t know.

“They’re saying Dorian might join the Inquisitor, but only for the Bull,” Josephine tried to hint the Seeker into the right direction and they all could pin-point the moment she realized what they were getting at when her eyes grew a bit bigger.

“Oh. Yes. Of course.”

“ _You_ still might have a shot,” Sera told her impishly. “Maybe he’ll confuse you from behind and with the short hair and all.”

Cassandra made a face and brought her hand down in anger, which would have made a nice bang on a table - however, since they were sitting in a basin full of water, it only sent a huge splash of water down on everyone and within seconds – and thanks to Sera’s enthusiasm – a water battle was commencing, the only one not participating being Vivienne, who shielded herself with a barrier and watched the spectacle with clear distaste.

Adaar was in clear advantage, her size allowing her to create a sort of monster wave, but Cassandra’s burning ambition (overriding her disdain for such a child-like activity) made the Seeker a worthy opponent, while Hawke and Josephine had formed a sort of alliance and Sera was not to be seen after a couple of initial splashed of water into everyone’s eyes – until she suddenly appeared behind Cassandra like a glistening, naked High Dragon and tried to push the warrior underwater while laughing like a lunatic.

oOo

“Okay, you’ve been smirking all night and I’m not sure why!”

Hawke put her hands on her hips and glared at Varric when he only grinned broader in response and took another swig of his wine.

Realizing playing angry would get her nowhere, she strut over and stole the cup from his hands, drinking from it herself before she placed it on the table and bent forward, resting her hands on either armrest of Varric’s chair, aware of the view into her cleavage she allowed.

“Hawke, what are you trying to do?” Varric asked, laughter barely kept out of his voice and eyes fixed pointedly on her face.

“Shh, work with me here. You can have it the nice way...” she made her eyes glint dangerously, “or the hard way.”

Relatively pleased with her attempt, she added what she hoped for was a soft purr – only to have Varric nearly choke with laughter at her trouble.

She poked out her tongue then and made a move to straighten up again, but Varric held her back and pulled her down until she could sit halfway across his lap, legs dangling over the left armrest. Hawke pouted while the stocky body beneath her still trembled with laughter.

“You are essentially the worst flirt I’ve ever seen and I’ve watched Bartrand’s attempts at courting!” he told her when he’d calmed down enough to breathe and speak properly again, but the furious glare that comment elicited from her send him into another fit of laughter instantly.

For all the shaking he was doing, Hawke would’ve been barely able to remain sitting on his lap if it hadn’t been for his arms holding her there securely. Defeated, she made another attempt at uncovering the reason for Varric’s amusement.

“I wouldn’t have to bring back such _clearly_ painful memories if you just told me what’s wrong – do I have something on my face? Or on my butt?”

“Your butt’s fine, Hawke,” he reassured her, one hand wandering over her thigh and towards said fine body part, but when she acted unimpressed, he rolled his eyes and moved the hand away from there and up to her face until he could pull her down enough to whisper in her ear:

“You know, the barrier down at the springs only works for a couple of metres? If you get out of the basin and move towards the door, you can... hear things.”

He watched satisfied how she leaned back, first confused and then with understanding dawning on her.

“If it helps, we haven’t been watching... much. Her Inquisitorialness’s back blocked a lot of the view.”

For a moment, Hawke did a fabulous impression of a fish, mouth opening and closing without a tone emerging. Finally, she asked: “ _What did you see_?”

Varric grinned. “Honestly, at first we were just concerned because when Curly got out of the tub to go back to work, he heard what he described as ‘unholy screeching’ coming from your side. Being the gentlemen we are, we naturally went to defend our precious Herald and the rest of you – you know, what with her being the only one able to actually stop the world from ending and all – but we all stopped pretty much just around the corner when we heard _‘You are going down, Inquisitor’_ coming from the Seeker.”

“Andraste’s tits,” Hawke groaned, knowing all too well where this was leading. Varric, however, was gleefully re-telling it from the men’s perspective.

“Then the kid told us _‘They’re fighting but it’s not real. They’re turning on each other but that’s also not real’_ which Tiny assumed to be some Fade-y, demon-y thing. You know, you all stuck in a nightmare fighting each other or something. Then Cole tried to explain that everything was well, except no-one really listened and everyone tried to get into their boots because you can fight stark naked, but fighting on a slippery floor with no shoes? Impossible.”

“I can’t believe these are the people the Inquisitor relies upon every day,” Hawke muttered, massaging her temples but by now intrigued in the minor disaster Varric was describing.

“Wait until you hear my favourite part,” Varric continued. “So just when there’s even more shrieking, Dorian proposes a magical barrier to hide us from sight in case the demons that are currently trying to kill the Inquisitor by possessing the Seeker see us before we can strike.” He grinned. “Which was when we heard _you_ yelling-“

“ _’Josephine, watch out for Sera, she’s sneaky’_.”

“Exactly. Followed by a roar coming from Buttercup – so we decided to step in and, hidden behind the barrier Sparkler conjured up, the whole lot of us storms over to your side, staff, blades and Bianca at the ready, wearing nothing but our boots.”

Varric paused and they blinked at each other once before they both erupted in laughter at the picture he was describing – Cullen, Dorian, The Bull, Cole and Varric ready for battle and stark naked. Except for the boots. Somehow, Hawke imagined Cole still wearing his hat.

“The best part, though?” Varric managed between fits of laughter. “The sight of Buttercup towering behind the Seeker like a High Dragon and coming down on her, trying to drown her in a pool full of water smelling like Embrium blossoms, while the Inquisitor towers over all of you, bringing her arm down to create a giant wave. And then there’s you and Josephine, hair plastered into your eyes, blindly reaching around while Vivienne watches everything from behind a barrier with a look of utmost disapproval. Underlined by the sound of Sera cackling like a witch while all we can see from the Seeker is flailing arms and bubbles on the surface.”

oOo

In the end, Hawke kept her knowledge to herself. She’d considered telling the rest of the women about the scene the men had witnessed, but ultimately decided against it to save Cassandra, for example, the humiliation. Even so, Iron Bull had most likely told Adaar and Dorian had dropped comments repeatedly that made Vivienne raise her eyebrows and caused the Seeker to glare at him even more than usual.

Hawke sent her small smiles at these times and while Cassandra was unsure of how to react at first, she finally approached her about a week later as the Champion of Kirkwall visited the mounts at the stables.

“Good afternoon, Champion” Cassandra greeted her, leaning against one of the stable walls in a manner that was so casual that Hawke had to try and hide her surprise. ‘Casual’ was not a word she’d used to describe the Seeker.

“Seeker Pentaghast. How can I help you?”

“You may call me Cassandra if you wish.”

Hawke smiled. “Thanks, Cassandra. I’d offer you my first name, too, but nobody seems to use it.”

Now something close to a smirk appeared on the Seeker’s face. “I’ve noticed.”

“Sometimes I wonder why my mother even bothered.”

“I’m sure she had her reasons. Just like my mother when she... _bestowed_ me with a name too long to fit into one line on parchment.” A small frown appeared on the Seeker’s face. Strangely, it almost suited her.

“You must have large handwriting.”

Cassandra didn’t grin, but the frown disappeared. “No. But five first names.”

Hawke laughed in disbelief. “Are you serious?”

“I am. Although I am lucky, I suppose – I’ve known a great aunt with eight first names.”

Hawke tried to recall what she knew of the Pentaghasts. “Was she a dragon hunter, too?”

“No. If anything, she was a dragon,” Cassandra told her drily, but Hawke had to laugh nevertheless.

“When Varric described you, I had the impression you never made jokes. But then again, you had him dragged into my old home and interrogated him. There probably wasn’t much time for joking.” Hawke was teasing, but even so, she underlined her words with steel in her eyes. Even though she truly liked Cassandra, she had to make clear what she thought of the whole interrogation business.

The Seeker held her gaze. Hawke noticed that when Cassandra didn’t smile, her face immediately looked grim due to the strong cheekbones, the scar next to her mouth and the eyebrows that always seemed to be drawn together critically.

Finally, the Seeker broke the measuring silence. “I apologise. Varric... tends to bring out the worst in me. Nevertheless, he has proven to be a... trusted companion to the Inquisitor.” She sighed. “I was furious once I learned he was in contact with you.”

“He told me you wanted to strangle him.”

“I did not!” She turned towards one of the horses and absentmindedly patted its neck. “Much.”

“What is it that makes you dislike him so much?” Hawke inquired, genuinely interested. Varric, after all, had always been a people person and – aside from the Merchant Guild – there weren’t many people he couldn’t charm.

Cassandra sighed. “He is infuriating! You cannot talk to him without having to question whether he just told you a story or not and which details he kept to himself. And he takes nothing serious!”

Hawke kept wandering past the horses, Cassandra falling in step next to her. When they reached the part of the stables sheltering the Dracolisks, they both stopped, keeping a healthy distant from the saurian creatures. “We all have different ways of coping with a situation if it gets to us. You seem the sort of person who punches things.”

“Who told you that?” Cassandra raised an eyebrow, scowling.

“No-one did. Well, maybe I overheard Sera talking about you punching bears, but somehow I think she’s been exaggerating.” Hawke grinned. “Anyway, I guessed. So I’m right?”

“It helps clearing my head,” the Seeker admitted.

“So, you punch things. Varric tells stories and makes people laugh. Don’t judge him because of that.”

The warrior watched Hawke closely. “How do you cope?”

“What does it say in the _Tale_?” she asked amusedly.

Cassandra made a face. “I... don’t know. My copy has an, uhm, hole in it.”

Hawke raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. One of the Dracolisks, however, glared at the two humans and made a sound Hawke wasn’t even sure if Varric knew a matching adjective for.

“Where does the Inquisitor find these creatures?” she asked, looking on impressed. It was a change of topic, of course, but somehow the Seeker didn't seem too interested in elaborating the story with the hole in ther book. 

“You think that is impressive?” Cassandra chuckled. “Have you ever heard of nuggalopes?”

“I... can’t say I have. Please tell me they’re less scale-y.”

“ _That_ they are.”

Hawke and Cassandra spent a couple of hours marvelling at the mounts in the stables, although they both quickly agreed that they preferred horses over the rest of the creatures. Cassandra, if short-tempered and too serious for her own good at times, wasn’t half as terrifying as she appeared and even though Hawke had no illusions about how far the Seeker trusted her, it seemed like they got along well enough.

Varric seemed mildly surprised when Hawke told him of an afternoon spend with Cassandra but even he had to admit that beneath the anger management issues and the occasional questionable interrogation tendencies, the Seeker was likeable. Sort of.

It helped that Hawke had made very clear what she thought about rough-handling Varric, in exchange for a promise from Varric not to tease Cassandra too much. Hawke realised, however, that both their promises of a more peaceful interaction with each other had been half-heartedly at best.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter on Sunday - sorry for the one-week wait!  
> Thanks for comments and kudos!!  
> \- Hanna


	5. ... and Back Again

A companionship had formed between the Inquisitor and Hawke at some point between recovering Stroud in Crestwood and re-taking the Tevinter ritual tower in the Exalted Plains.

Hawke still stayed on her own a lot, or around Varric when the Inquisitor didn’t ask him to join her on her trips, but it wasn’t unusual to see her and the Herald walk the baileys laughing freely or both deeply in thoughts.

Although being a Qunari, the Inquisitor wasn’t at all what Hawke had expected. First, the long, white hair that fell in waves down to her elbows made her look soft even with the prominent features and the sharp, slightly curled horns that gave most of her race their special look. Secondly, she seemed somehow small for a Qunari – still towering over everyone including Hawke – but her soft demeanour and gentle way of speaking lulled people into thinking she wasn’t actually a warrior swinging a massive axe during battle.

Their chats developed from friendly to close soon and while Hawke found someone who seemed genuinely interested in both sides of the story of the rebellion in Kirkwall, someone who hadn’t formed an unfaltering opinion, the Inquisitor readily shared what little she knew about those living under the Qun, as well as – even though Hawke never asked directly for them – stories about her and Varric’s whereabouts.

The topic of ‘Varric and Hawke’ was never raised directly, but Hawke soon understood that Isabela had been right – when she and her favourite dwarf were around each other, it was “fucking obvious” to those willing to see.

It was on one of their walks, late in the afternoon with the sky already turning red, that the Inquisitor broke their unspoken rule of not prying for the exact nature of Hawke’s relationship with Varric indirectly. It had started out with a discussion about naming weapons (and the Bull’s affinity for doing so), when the topic came, almost predictably, to a certain crossbow.

“Have you ever met the Bianca Varric’s crossbow is named after?”

Hawke thought for a moment, then made a sound that could’ve been both an affirmative and a negative.

Adaar stared straight ahead, looking somewhat embarrassed. “I’m sorry if that was too personal.”

Now, Hawke could’ve left it at that. Accepted the apology and moved on. But a part of her wondered why the Inquisitor had brought it up – and especially why she supposed the bow was named after a person. Hawke straightened her back.

“Sorry, no, it’s fine. It’s just that usually people ask Varric about the whole Bianca thing and he finds one way or another to shut them up.”

“Oh, he hasn’t told me anything,” the Inquisitor told her. “Not that there’s anyone in Skyhold who hasn’t tried getting the story out of him – including me,” she admitted sheepishly.”The thing is... we went on this mission, not long after you arrived. A dwarf had come to Skyhold and said she was a friend of Varric’s. Knew about Red Lyrium shipments coming from an old dwarven ruin in the Hinterlands. Her name was Bianca, too.”

Hawke couldn’t help but freeze. Varric hadn’t told her about that. She’d known that something had been going on with the Red Lyrium and that he’d been edgy for almost a week, but when she’d asked him about it, he had told her that everything was alright and that he’d just been on edge because of the Red Lyrium showing up everywhere.

“Hawke?” The Inquisitor’s eyes were trained on her, the concern clear in her features.

“I... didn’t know. Sorry, continue.”

“Are you sure? It’s not really important.”

Hawke simply waited until her friend continued.

“Well, they were both pretty evasive about... basically everything, but he told me she was the smith who made his crossbow. And that they had history together. Though, from the way I understand it, it mainly involved crashing the parties of Varric’s brother and something about her family constantly trying to kill him.”

The Champion crossed her arms but chuckled lightly. “I can see that.” She didn’t specify which part, though.

“Apparently Bianca’s married to some guy neither of them can bother to remember the name of.”

Hawke raised an eyebrow. “How did you find out _that_?”

“I... might have told them to get a room when they were fighting.” The Inquisitor cringed and sent an apologetic look towards Hawke, who did her best not to feel... betrayed at what Varric had apparently omitted to tell her.

“Why were they fighting?”

“Bianca... she was the one who gave the key to the Deep Roads entrance to the mage abusing it for the smuggle. A Grey Warden. Something with a J-... Janes-...”

“Janeka.” Hawke’s face hardened. “We’ve met before.”

Adaar stopped walking and watched Hawke carefully. Then, she lowered her head. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble between you and Varric. I understand that he... means a lot to you. If he didn’t tell you about this, he might have his reasons.”

Hawke smiled, and even though it didn’t quite reach her eyes, she meant it. “You’ve done nothing wrong.” She sighed. “To answer your question: I believe that the Bianca you’ve met is the one the crossbow is named for, or rather after. And when they were younger, there might have been a time when they were more than friends.” She paused. “But times change, and people change.”

oOo

They were yelling at each other.

Unbelievable as it was, but there they were, yelling.

Varric had found Hawke in his room, arms wrapped around herself and retreated so far into this icy shell she had adopted at some point during their separation of three years that it was a wonder the room temperature remained the same. Apparently she’d had a talk with the Inquisitor, who’d told her about the venture into Valammar with Bianca.

_Well, shit._

Of course he knew it had been wrong not to tell Hawke about it, but it had been almost too much for him to comprehend and in the end, it wasn’t like he’d done or said anything that needed repeating in front of the woman he’d started following years ago in Kirkwall and whom he would follow into death if she asked it of him. (Of course, he’d still rather find a way around the death-part, but if it was the only way, then he knew deep within his heart he would be at her side.)

He saw how keeping this secret might seem strange, in retrospect. But it wasn’t a story involving some random stranger. It was Bianca and Bianca had been and would always be... special circumstances.

And so Varric and Hawke had soon started bickering, then lost focus about what they were fighting about and soon enough somehow ended up yelling – a first for both of them.

Silence only came when Hawke fled the room, banging the door shut behind herself.

They didn’t see each other until the next morning – the day the siege on Adamant began and the whole stronghold marched for the Exalted Plains.

Hawke rode by herself and Varric, who (like most dwarves really) was neither apt at riding nor willing to look ridiculous on horseback was grudgingly walking with the Inquisitor and her few companions that didn’t have a mount, either. Whenever they sat up camp, Hawke was nowhere to be found and he only found out much later she’d offered to go on scouting missions with Scout Harding and her people almost every night.

No wonder she looked haggard during the daytime.

The journey brought back the hard, unforgiving Hawke he’d encountered that first night at Skyhold but even if he had known what to say, an army on the march ready to lay siege to one of the most famous Grey Warden fortresses of all time was simply not the right place.

When the night of the attack began, there was no trace of Hawke and he only saw her again when he cleared a path for the Inquisitor on the main bailey of Adamant. Their eyes met and when a group of demons attacked, they automatically fought alongside each other as usual. He knew where Hawke would be even before she moved, just like she knew when to clear a path for him to get a clear shot before he had fully reloaded Bianca.

The Inquisitor sent her off again after, though – and then Corypheus’ dragon attacked. They fought bravely and followed Clarel after the Inquisitor had helped the completely torn Wardens to fight of the demons. When Clarel started her last attempt at defeating the monster, body already broken, shredded and bloodied, the explosion was enough to send everyone on their knees. Distantly, he felt rumbling and heard a cracking sound but he was too busy checking if Hawke and the Inquisitor were still alive that he didn’t even realize the bridge was cracking until someone dragged him along, away from the cracks. It was to no avail, though and as he fell, strangely enough, his last thought was that while dwarves were really bad at swimming, they were _exceptionally_ bad at flying.

oOo

Hawke clearly remembered the last time she’d been in the Fade consciously and from the way Varric grumbled, it was obvious he did, too. She couldn’t hold back a comment about how maybe this time, he’d be so kind as not to listen to demonic promises like he had back in Kirkwall in Feynriel’s dream.

She also didn’t stop arguing with Stroud. The Fade had them all on edge, and the words spilled out of her and him like poison. Then, the Nightmare started speaking. To the Inquisitor, to her companions. To Stroud and her. It was ridiculous. She tried not to listen.

But the closer they came to its lair, the worse it became.

Bad, too, was seeing the strange... graveyard with the fears edged into headstones. She read, silently. No-one in the party commented, but she wanted to, so badly she had to bite her tongue.

‘Becoming his parents’. Varric could _never._ She _knew_ him. And she knew enough of his parents (told in hushed whispers, or aspersions in the Merchant Guild) and his brother that it was obvious that Varric was a different person entirely.

Hawke held onto that thought, still, when the Nightmare spoke to her one last time.

It showed her things. Varric, naked, in bed. Someone entering the room. Short, a dwarf. A woman. _Her. Bianca._

Kisses. Laughter. Plans to run away, start a new life.

“That was only three year ago,” the voice whispered in Hawke’s head.

“That’s _not_ what happened,” Hawke muttered.

“Maybe it’s what he wishes had happened,” the Nightmare suggested.

“This is just some sort of twisted magic. Dwarves don’t enter the Fade, they don’t dream.”

“It’s not a dream. These are memories, in the Fade. They’re stored here, from the time the dwarf walked this realm with the woman from Rivain and the one they call King of Ferelden. I found these memories.”

“The day I start listening to demons is the day Wintersend and Summerday are on the same day.”

The Nightmare laughed. “Ask him, Champion. Don’t believe me. But ask him. You’ll believe what he tells you.”

And Hawke didn’t want to, but the nagging feeling was right back where it had started to gnaw inside her weeks before, when she’d found out about Varric’s secret trip to Valammar with Bianca.

He had betrayed her once already, in the Fade. Why wouldn’t he do it again, in the Fade or in the real world?

oOo

Then the moment was over, and Hawke realized it couldn’t have been more than a second during which the whole group had been paralyzed. No-one but her seemed to have noticed their exchange, although it was entirely possible they’d lived through their own scenarios.

She tried to stop the dark thoughts, but they had taken root in her mind and her furious cry when she started slashing at the Nightmare only served as a signal for him that his words had influenced her.

She fought hard, as did Adaar, Varric, the Iron Bull and Dorian. And Stroud.

Stroud, whom Adaar chose to stay behind, with a look at Varric, a look at Hawke’s wild eyes and the raw, simple need to save Hawke, whom she considered a friend now.

Hawke knew Stroud, knew he was a good man. But Adaar didn’t, and she naturally chose the person she cared about less.

Someone dragged Hawke along. Varric, it seemed. At that moment, it didn’t matter.

Stroud fought valiantly. Until he fell.

oOo

Hawke had handed in her report on the happenings at Adamant to Cullen the night before wordlessly before she’d returned to the room she’d been given and started packing. There wasn’t much to do, really. The room held most of her travel belongings still packed in the same bags, which looked exactly like they had on the day she’d arrived.

Most of her time had been spent in Varric’s room and bed, anyway, so she hadn’t even unpacked the stuff she hadn’t needed. It was all there, ready to be shouldered.

Hawke realized simply disappearing was something she would regret forever in the near future. Her body felt a physical drag towards where she knew Varric would be, and a part of her consciousness argued that it wasn’t fair to him to just leave without a word.

The other part, however, the part that was currently causing her to get ready for the road was the part she’d strengthened over the years. The hard part, the part that did what had to be done, the part that protected her from more pain when she was already hurting.

The memory of Adamant hurt in a way she couldn’t voice. The desperation of the Wardens, Stroud’s death.

It hurt that she had argued with the Warden up until the last couple of minutes of his life.

It hurt to remember his death.

And, even though it seemed ridiculous compared to the greater gist of things, Varric’s betrayal hurt.

Except there wasn’t really _betrayal_. It wasn’t like he owed her the complete story of his whole life, of every single minute of every single day. But their relationship had been strained for a while now and sometimes... sometimes love didn’t just make everything right.

She knew she had changed just as much as he had, but at the moment, Hawke couldn’t help but feel bad for herself and retreat into the ice that protected her.

So she had finished packing, gathered her things – and stopped right at the gate of Skyhold. Thankfully, it was late and the castle was only sparsely populated, a majority of the inhabitants still on their way back from the Exalted Plains. Hawke had ended up hiding in one of the chambers above the gate, watching the sun rise on the horizon.

The day crept by, without her feeling tired or hungry or thirsty, and when the sun set again, she blinked. Then, and only then, she gave in to the pull and followed it back into the depths of Skyhold.

It led her to the council chamber, where she hid in the hallway in a dark corner, between rubble and wooden beams.

Josephine’s voice was muffled, but Hawke had no trouble making out the words. “Maybe Hawke will-“

“No.” Varric’s voice was almost _icy_ , a tone Hawke had never ever before heard him use. Even when he was angry, his voice didn’t sound like it could cut through your brain and leave it a bloody mess if you didn’t oblige. “Do you people even realize what she’s gone through? Most of you have been hostile towards her from the very first minute and even after she went up against Corypheus for the second time in her life, when one time should’ve already been one time too often – and all you can think of is sending her off to her next mission. This is the _Inquisition_. We have an Inquisitor who might or might not have been sent by Andraste herself. You _have_ a hero already – don’t make Hawke into another hero you are prepared to throw into the flames willingly if it might prove useful. Hawke is Not. Your. Hero.”

Inside the council chamber, everyone had fallen silent.

The silence was defiant, daring the advisors to say another word about deploying Hawke on the one or the other ridiculous mission.

To Hawke’s surprise – and apparently Varric’s, too – Cassandra was the one to speak up first, and she did it softly, barely recognisable as the stubborn, easily aggravated Seeker. “I’m sorry, Varric. It was careless to plan with the Champion without consulting with her first.”

“You’re damn right it was,” he muttered, and Hawke felt some of the tension leaving her body when he started to sound a bit more like his usual self when he was grumpy. “But there won’t be any consulting. You’ll leave her alone, all of you. Let her go. Let her live her freaking life without throwing her into the Fade or setting her up against Corypheus.”

_Again,_ Hawke added drily in her mind. It had been her own choice, of course but... all she wanted now was to get away. From the Inquisition, Corypheus – and Varric. And Varric, of all people, supported this (even if he couldn’t know it was to get away from him, too). She needed time to sort things out and to _help_ people again. It’s what she had always been best at and right now, the Wardens seemed to need all the help they could get.

“We know you want to protect her,” Josephine started, but before she could finish, someone must’ve given her a warning look. All that followed was silence.

Then, the door opened, and in the darkness of the hallway, only illuminated by the light in the council chamber, Varric’s shadow fell on the stone floor. He looked back over his shoulder. “With all due respect, but you really don’t know or understand it.”

With that, he closed the door and simply stood in the darkness for a moment, before Hawke heard him sigh and start moving down the corridor. He didn’t stop when the door to the council chamber opened again and the tall, lithe shadow of Cassandra hurried after him.

“Varric! May I talk to you for a minute?”

He slowed, but didn’t stop. “Now’s not a good time, Seeker. It’s the part where I storm off and get drunk while bemoaning my miserable life.”

“You will be done quickly, then, because your life is not half as miserable as you think.”

“Not helping,” he grunted.

“I’m not trying to,” she barked authoritatively.

Finally, he stopped, the moon coming in through one of the high windows providing enough light for Hawke to make out Cassandra and Varric, facing each other tensely.

“I understand that you want to protect her – she is your friend. But you cannot accuse people of desperately wanting a hero. The Inquisitor is many things, among them a hero, but she is new. The people know Hawke, like they know the famous Grey Warden who saved Ferelden during the Fifth Blight, like they know King Alistair, like they know... me.” She added the last part with a certain amount of distaste.

Varric crossed his arms in front of his chest. “They have the _Tale_ , and will have to live with that. I meant what I said – by dragging her into this, you’re destroying her and she won’t even object because she is a fucking hero and heroes don’t object.”

Once again it became clear just how Varric saw Hawke, and the Champion cringed. Her best friend had always seen the best in her, had always made her out to be so much more than she really was – and now she was clearly contradicting his words with her absence, yet he didn’t even seem to care, still adamant on defending her. She _was_ objecting – by running away.

Cassandra shifted from one leg to the other, then reached into the small satchel she was carrying and held something up for Varric to see. “I think maybe this time, she did object.”

“What’s that?”

“A copy of your book. The _Tale_. Someone left it to me on my bed earlier tonight. It’s... signed by her. And there’s a letter.”

“Hawke wrote you a letter?”

“I was just as surprised, believe me. She talked about a lot of things, but what’s important now is that she talked about leaving for Weisshaupt. The Wardens need someone like her now.”

Hawke was pleased that the Seeker had found the book and the letter, although it was less than ideal that she was showing it to Varric right now. But then again, Hawke had not planned on staying in Skyhold as long as she had now, anyway. She had planned to leave just as quietly as she had arrived, but... it had become obvious to her that she couldn’t. She had a reason to stay for only a bit longer.

Said reason was now opening the book, eyes skimming over the quick dedication Hawke had written for Cassandra.

_“Varric suggested this some time ago, as retribution for keeping me from you._

_Enjoy the_ Tale _, but don’t believe everything you read – you know how stories tend to grow bigger and bigger every time they’re told._

_\- Hawke.”_

Cassandra took it from him as soon as he was finished, almost cradling it to her chest and Hawke would have laughed had it been a different day. Now, even smiling hurt.

“So... are you ever going to actually read it or just stare lovingly at her signature?” Varric asked drily.

“Her signature would at least be aesthetically pleasing, as opposed to the cover!” Cassandra retorted immediately. “Why in the name of the Maker did you put yourself on the front, dressed even more... _revealing_ as usual?”

“There’s a saying about what sells things best, Seeker,” Varric reminded her and she scoffed before stomping away with a clipped ‘Good night.’ Varric looked after her for a moment, before he shook his head and started walking away.

Hawke followed silently.

They reached Varric’s room now, but before he opened the door, he straightened his back. “You still smell like vanilla.”

He didn’t even flinch when she appeared next to him from seemingly nowhere. In the darkness, she couldn’t make out his face.

“You should have left,” he told her.

“I’m wounded,” she replied drily, instantly unsure if being sarcastic had been the wise choice.

Rolling his eyes (which she couldn’t see, but somehow just _knew_ he did), he reached out for her right hand and squeezed it lightly. “Just kidding. I’m too selfish to mean it.” She was surprised to find that she didn’t flinch back.

“That’s what I told myself when I didn’t leave as I planned but stayed behind to see you before I left.”

He unlocked his door and let her in before following. The familiar smell washed over her, as did the sight of the slight mess of books and scrolls everywhere; everything she connected to Varric. The familiar touch of rough fingers when he handed her wine.

“So, you’re staying after all?”

oOo

Hawke stood in the room forlornly, and the flickering candles only reached half of her face, bathing her in darkness for the most part. The invisible wall around her seemed to become stronger by the second. “No. I just want to set things straight.”

Varric couldn’t help but chuckle. “Usually when you do that, we end up with a dead dragon and a frightened mine owner.”

“Then you’re lucky your neither, hm?” she replied, a faint memory of the old Hawke resurfacing.

“Well I suppose it depends on what it is you want to set straight. Maybe I’ll prefer being slain.” Although he said that lightly, neither of them treated it as such. Hawke put away her cup, but instead of the wild gestures that usually accompanied her when she spoke, she wrapped them around herself again. Varric briefly wondered at what point of her three-year run from Kirkwall she’d started doing that to hold herself together. She shouldn’t have to. She’d always been the one holding together everyone around her. In fact, she’d been so good at holding the others that Varric tended to forget how hard it had to be for her.

Finally, she spoke. “Why didn’t you tell me about Bianca and Valammar?” She asked calmly, almost defeated. They’d had this conversation before and ended up yelling. It seemed like she was past the point of caring about if that could happen again.

Varric gulped down his wine in one go. This was absolutely the time for liquid courage – not that one chalice would make a big difference. “I could barely comprehend it myself. I... hadn’t seen Bianca in person ever since I had her made the safe for the Red Lyrium shard and suddenly she was just there, with this whole story about a smuggling ring. I immediately had the feeling something was wrong and then... it turned out she was responsible.”

Hawke remained silent.

“People... I don’t know, they assume I have some kind of tragic background with her and feel sorry for us and then she shows up and it looks like she’s the bad guy in this whole mess. She made mistakes, yes, but she’s not what the people of the Inquisition make her out to be.”

The Champion tensed and even though it was barely visible, Varric noticed. “You’re protecting her?”

“Of course I am!”

“Because you... love her?”

“No. Yes. Look-“ he raked his hand through his hair, prying loose the strands from the ponytail, “-it’s a mess. I hate talking about it.” But he would have to, now, if he didn’t want to lose Hawke. ”There might have been a time when we were in love, and when she thought we could run away, leave the trouble behind us and just _be_. Andraste’s tits, I almost believed it, too. It didn’t work out. At that time, I think I would have given everything to get a second chance.”

Hawke snorted. It was an ugly sound in that situation. “The Nightmare showed me.”

“He did what?”

“He showed me. A memory, stored in the Fade. From your adventure with King Alistair.” Telling Hawke about how Isabela, he and the King had gone on a rescue mission to find the King’s long lost father, Varric had omitted to mention a trip into the fade.

Varric’s eyes grew big when realisation dawned on him. “... Shit.”

Hawke’s face remained expressionless.

“What did he show you?” the dwarf inquired.

“You’re not trying to tell me you don’t remember it yourself, right? Because it’s _pretty_ firmly edged into _my_ memory. You, naked, bedroom, Bianca. Kissing and talking about running away. _Very_ sweet.”

“Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“This... passive-aggressive thing you’ve got going on. That’s not you.”

“Well, I suppose I’m allowed to act out of character, since you seem to be doing it, too. I mean, lying to me? When did you start doing _that_?”

“I didn’t lie to you.”

“So you saying you want to be with me is not a lie? Because I’m really not interested in running away with you and Bianca, if that’s your elaborate plan for the future.”

Varric laughed drily. “You know how much I hate running.” Then a thought occurred to him. “The Nightmare didn’t show you the end of that memory?”

When Hawke simply stayed silent, Varric continued: “This whole memory was a trick to tempt me to stay where I was, in the Fade, _supposedly_ happy. But... I left. You can ask Isabela, or even King Alistair. They lived through similar things.”

Still, Hawke remained silent, but this time, it was a different silence. Even if Varric couldn’t tell whether the silence was less hostile or not, it definitely was intrigued. Possibly against Hawke’s own will, but that didn’t make a difference.

“There are many reasons for why Bianca and I never worked out and I _promised_ not to tell _her_ story, but-“ he sighed deeply, “-one of _my_ reasons, the most important reason for _this conversation_ , is that I have someone in my life who means more to me than anyone else on this whole sodding continent.”

Hawke huffed in annoyance. “This is not one of your novels.”

“Of course it’s not, but if me sounding like the main character out of the next trashy romance the Seeker would buy is what it takes to make you understand that you’re the most important person in my life, then I’ll live with that!”

“ _Stop saying that!_ Stop making me sound like the most desirable person to be around!” Hawke threw her hands in the air in exasperation. “Stop pretending I’m so much better than everyone.”

“You want me to beat you up with words like you do to yourself every single day? You want me to be mad at you like about 90 percent of the people of Thedas who have no clue what you’ve done to protect them?”

“It’s ridiculous, okay? You, making me into a hero! I make mistakes and you claim you don’t care about them at all?”

“You’re getting it wrong. I care about the mistakes you make. I see them and, in case you have forgotten, I help you live through them. But we _all_ make mistakes. I’m not saying I’m grander or wiser then everyone because I overlook them when it comes to you. I’m _selfish_ when I do that. But don’t ever doubt that you’re better than everyone to me.”

“But if that’s true, then why didn’t you tell me about Bianca?”

“ _Why_ is that so important to you? You never asked me before. Well, aside from the initial curiosity everyone has. Are you... jealous?” The concept was strange, entirely unfitting for the Hawke he knew. But then again, neither of them had ever had reason to be jealous.

Hawke threw her hands in the air in desperation. “I don’t know! Maybe.” Her words didn’t matter, not really, not when she was finally back to being alive – gesturing, getting worked up. Her throwing her hands around, speaking with her whole body was so much better than the passive, cold stance she’d adopted at the beginning.

“I didn’t care before, but only because I knew Bianca was yours and no-one knew about her. I was alright with that,” she elaborated. “And now the Inquisitor tells me about the merry little daytrip to Valammar and how much insight you granted Adaar and her companions and they all give me these pitiful looks of ‘oh, you didn’t know? I thought you were friends’!”

“Well I don’t know if you realize it, but I got the exact same looks today when no-one could find you and everyone assumed you had just disappeared. The Inquisitor told me you thought about going to Weisshaupt. I looked like a tit when I had to tell them I had no idea why you had just left.” He turned away. “Not that you didn’t hear the conversation, of course.”

“Leaving seemed easier.” It sounded like Hawke was talking to the ground, but Varric didn’t turn to look at her.

“Running away, you mean.”

“You’d know about that.” _That_ sounded accusing and Varric simply had to turn back to look at her.

“Yes, you’re right. I _do_ know about that. I know that it doesn’t solve problems. With Bianca, I would have always been running away. To keep her safe, and myself.” He remembered being madly in love and thinking that was possible. Romantic, even. The lovers, always on the run from the hate of the world, needing only each other to go on every day.

He breathed deeply. “But guess what? I stopped running away the day I met you. I stopped closing my eyes to things I couldn’t change or things that had nothing to do with Bartrand, my family or the business. You made me stop running, and on the couple of times I wanted to, you were stubborn enough for us both. I’m in the Inquisition because of you – you inspire people, Hawke.” He couldn’t help himself, he reached out for her and her bright blue eyes drilled themselves into his when he lightly touched her wrist. “And from how I remember it, you came to Skyhold because you thought running away from Corypheus, and your history with him, wasn’t an option, either,” he added more softly.

Hawke blinked slowly, looking like the sheer weight of the whole world on her shoulders pushed down her eyelids. “What I’m doing is... atonement.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You don’t have to _atone_ for anything.”

She shook her head impatiently. “I do. Siding with Janeka at the tower was my decision, and it was the wrong one. I don’t even know what I was thinking, agreeing on using blood magic to manipulate Ancient Darkspawn.”

“You were thinking that stopping the Blights for once and all was a good thing! And why wouldn’t you? You lost your home in Lothering to them, and you’ve got common sense! Besides, siding with Larius wouldn’t have turned out any better,” Varric argued back. “He was bat-shit after all. And it’s not like you didn’t stop Corypheus once we realized what was going on.”

“I need to set right my mistakes.”

He huffed. “Fine, I won’t argue with you about that anymore. But whatever you think you’re doing now, you’ve _not_ been running away before. You never did.”

Hawke kept watching him. “You told the council to let me leave in peace.”

He chuckled quietly. “There’s a difference between you leaving and you running away.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And the difference is?”

“You saying good-bye.”

Silence followed. He watched her, carefully, as she took a deep breath. Then, slowly, a small, hesitant smile spread on her face.

“I can do that.”

Varric smiled back, somewhat sadly. “I rather wish you didn’t.”

“I won’t stay here.” Immediately, she tried to draw back an inch, but he didn’t allow her, simply followed a step and looked into her eyes warmly.

“I’m not asking you to. In fact, I want you to leave. But... I won’t say good-bye to you, if you won’t either. This doesn’t have to be good-bye. Not if you can forgive me for not telling you about Valammar and Bianca. She’ll always be important to me but I promise I never lied to you about how much more important you are to me. And about how much I love your stubborn, crazy head.”

Hawke made a sound that was so close to Cassandra’s disapproving grunt both she and Varric were surprised. And then they both grinned.

“Maker, why does everything you say sound good and I sound like a mad, jealous bitch?” She scratched her neck, a light red tint spreading on her cheeks.

“You didn’t sound like that. Well, maybe _mad_ , but I can live with that.” He winked. “And it wasn’t right to keep things from you, either. So I guess we both fucked up.”

“Just for the record: I’m not really ‘jealous’. Well, maybe a little. The Bull said Bianca was hot.” Hawke’s eyes glinted amusedly even though she made a face. “Just... don’t keep me in the dark if something like this happens again? I mean, not just with Bianca. Even if your great-cousin suddenly decides that Red Lyrium smuggle is a new corner market and you find out about it – tell me.”

“Fine. And you... talk to me. About what you’re going to find at Weisshaupt. About anything, really. I expect answers to my letters that include a) answers to every question I ask, b) something about your health and if all your limbs are still attached to where they belong to and c) something along the lines of ‘without you my life is a dark pit that can only be brightened up by the presence of your magnificently wonderful body and your fascinating character’. Etcetera etcetera, insert compliments.”

“Do I have to end it with ‘hugs and kisses’?”

“You may alternatively attach a bunch of flowers.”

“You’d be much happier if I sent a bottle of wine.”

“True, but I’m afraid the ravens can’t really carry that.”

“Spoilsport.”

They watched each other for a moment, before Varric stepped aside and, in an unspoken agreement, Hawke settled down on the settee in the corner of the room before she spread her legs and let Varric sit back against her chest. She wrapped her arms around his upper chest and buried her nose at the back of his head and inhaled the scent of smoke and leather that always clung to him after a long day.

“Do you ever wonder if we’re maybe not right for each other?” she muttered into his neck.

He hummed. “Not really. You’re astounding, I’m astounding. We’re a match probably created by the Maker himself.”

“We’ve never fought as much as we do now before.”

He shrugged. “We never had to face the end of the world before.”

“There’s no one I’d rather face it with,” Hawke admitted and covered Varric’s right hand that was currently resting on her thigh with her hand, lightly threading their fingers together. “I’m- thank you. For everything.”

“When you say thank you, I feel a bit like your sex toy.”

“You’re awful.”

“I don’t recall you telling me that the last time we f-“

“Shush. We’re still having a moment.”

“We are? Because, honestly, I usually avoid all the emotional stuff and joke about it and in my opinion, we could _stop_ having a moment now.”

“Fine. But in that case, let me tell you that you were wrong before.” She smiled a little, he could hear it in her voice.

“That doesn’t happen often. About what?”

“Running away. Doing it in a zigzag line is always the best option if an Arishok with a massive broadsword is chasing you in a duel.”

He grinned. “I don’t mention that in the _Tale_. Far more heroic for you to throw yourself into battle head-first.”

“As opposed to running away in circles for half an hour?”

“Exactly.”

They chuckled, before Varric shuffled around and they could switch positions. Having Hawke sit between his legs in a brass basin on the rare occasions they’d enjoyed a bath together was always awkward because she was taller than him, but on the settee, she could slide down until her head rested against his chest comfortably. He rested one hand over her stomach, where he knew the scar from the Arishok battle was.

_It was also where there child would be growing, if they ever actually got that far._

_Shit, when had he started thinking about children all the time?! It was like a curse!_

Varric tried to imagine Hawke with an enormous belly and realized with some horror she’d be complaining for the whole pregnancy about not fitting her armour. There would be none of the back flip nonsense, either. No dive rolls, no appearing-with-a-poof-behind-an-enemy. In fact, there would be no fighting at all. She was going to be furious, and the thought alone made Varric grin broadly.

“What is it?” Hawke asked, glancing at him the best she could without actually moving her head.

“If I tell you, you’ll never want to have kids.”

She pouted. “Well now you have to tell me, because you started it anyway!”

“Are you sure?”

Hawke snorted. “What – do half-dwarven babies cry all the time? To be honest, I imagined Bartrand having been the one doing all the crying. You probably started talking right from the start and made people want to strangle you.”

“There was occasional strangling, from Bartrand’s side,” Varric admitted, laughing, “but no. See, what just occurred to me was that you won’t be able to do any of that dagger-wielding Hawke-to-the-rescue stuff if your belly gets about the size of Tiny’s after a five-course meal in one of the Inquisition’s allies’ mansions in Val Royeaux.”

Hawke sat up indignantly, raising her eyebrows at him. “Maker’s Breath, how many kids do you want to... _infuse_ into me?!”

Varric started laughing uncontrollably until tears almost spilled from his eyes. “Hawke, that is not how getting pregnant works!” When she poked out her tongue at him, he added: “And besides, even if it’s just one kid, you might still become really big.”

She scoffed. “You’re a _dwarf_ , how big can your babies possibly get?”

He pet her hair. “For one: we’re actually born the size we are as adults, complete with beard and chest hair-” That elicited a grin and an eye-roll from Hawke, “-and secondly: if it works the same between a dwarf and a human as with elves and humans, the kid will look human and thus be of average human baby size.” In an afterthought, he added: “Not that you’re average. You’re almost... short.”

“Says the dwarf,” she laughed, but whatever she planned on adding afterwards was unintelligible due to a massive yawn she couldn’t stifle.

“’Time for bed’ says the dwarf,” Varric told her with a laugh and she barely protested when he nudged her. They migrated to the bed where she flopped down, fighting with her clothes lazily until she was somewhat dressed down enough for bed.

Hawke only blinked slowly by the time Varric had extinguished the candles and sat down on the mattress and she held out her arm lazily until she could pull him close. Usually, they slept the other way round, but Varric figured that Hawke holding him was better than Hawke holding herself and it didn’t really matter anyway.

“What do normal couples do when they have to leave each other the next morning?” she mused, voice rough from talking too much and heavy with sleep.

“I don’t know. Probably not talk about using blood magic to free Darkspawn and preventing the end of the world.” He thought about it for a while. “They have a moment, then they have sex and then they get teary-eyed until they both have more sex and fall asleep,” he decided.

“Is that what you put in your novels?”

“Plus dragons.” He laughed.

“Rwaaar,” Hawke mumbled in a sad attempt of being a dragon.

“You’re almost there,” he reassured her. “Adorable, border-lining on scary.”

“Were you maybe just a little bit afraid?”

“Not compared to other times, no. Sorry.”

“What other times?”

After a short pause, in which he started caressing her side, he admitted: “I was afraid the Inquisitor would ask you to stay and fight the Nightmare. For one really fucking horrible moment, I thought she would ask you to stay behind.” _Shit, he hadn’t even planned on going there again._

“But she chose Stroud.” Hawke’s voice was rough, with sleep and emotion now.

“Yes. And... Hawke? Since we’re having _another_ moment...” He looked at her but couldn’t see much in the darkness. “Would you hate me if I said I’m glad?”

“No.” She shook her head slowly and curled her hand around his. “I could never hate you, and I mean it. I’m angry and sad – Stroud... the Wardens would have needed him. But- this is nothing personal with the Inquisitor, or you. I’m just tired of it all.”

“I know, love.” The rarely used pet name showed how much he emphasized with her.

“Will you come to Weisshaupt with me?” she asked unexpectedly and he shortly stopped his administrations, before resuming.

“They need me here.” His voice was rough and his hand came to rest on her side, drawing her even closer than they already were in a desperate attempt of taking the disappointment out of his words. “You knew that, though.”

“I did.” She laughed quietly. “Asking doesn’t hurt, though.”

“No, it doesn’t.” He made a face, which she couldn’t see in the darkness. “And now we’ll both stop thinking about all the crap that happened for a while, okay?... It’s nice to have you here.”

“That sounds like I’m guest-lecturing at the University of Orlais. ‘Please welcome Hawke – it’s nice to have you here, Champion.’”

“Pff, what would you lecture people about?”

“Anders’ Manifesto,” she answered immediately. “I still know the bloody thing by heart. Remember how we’d find it everywhere in Kirkwall, including your room at the Hanged Man and the estate?”

“I might still have some copies flying around here somewhere. But you don’t need to lecture people on that anymore. They’re learning by doing right now.”

“Well.. dragons, then. And sarcasm.”

Varric actually laughed loudly. “You? Sarcasm?”

“Yes?!”

“No, Hawke! Sarcasm is... a lifestyle. You’re sarcastic sometimes, but you’re too nice to actually be sarcastic. There’s times when you can pull it off, but you’re usually... diplomatic.”

“How diplomatic is it to stab the Arishok?”

“Very.”

“I don’t think ‘very’ is an appropriate scale for diplomacy.”

He poked her. “I thought you were tired.”

“Not anymore,” she said, yawning.

When only silence came from Varric, she scoffed. “I know you’re raising your eyebrow at me. I can _feel_ it.”

“Oh, you just gave me the perfect base for a really Hawke-esque flirtation attempt,” he laughed. He slid his hand down her belly and towards the hem of her soft linen trousers in exaggerated slow motion and muttered with a rumbling voice: “Can you feel _that_?”

Hawke snorted, by now actually too awake to sleep again, and batted away his hand before rolling on top of him, grinning in the darkness. “That was awful.”

“Then be glad it’s what _you_ would’ve sad. Lucky for both of us, I’m better at the whole seduction thing.”

She laughed when she bent down, pressing her forehead against his. “Prove it, Tethras.”

And Varric was only too happy to oblige.

%MCEPASTEBIN%

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The day I stop writing happy ends is probably the day I'll stop breathing.
> 
> Only a short epilogue to come.  
> Thank you for reading/giving kudos/commenting, I hope you enjoyed it!  
> \- Hanna


	6. Prologue

“Ah, the sound of crazy blood mages cursing you,” Varric grunted while he reloaded Bianca. “It’s just like the old days!”

“Oh joy,” Hawke muttered, while slashing her way through the enemies. Deep inside, though, she... enjoyed it. Not the killing, not the blood magic used against innocent people, of course. But the routine. The feeling of being at home. _Kirkwall._

An arrow whooshed past her, inches from her head so she could feel the draft and drilled itself into the eye socket of an abomination with a slurping sound. Ah, good times.

Not everything was the same, though. Reparations in Kirkwall had progressed in the four years of her absence. Where in 9:37 the destruction caused by the Qunari had not even been removed when new debris of the Chantry piled on top, these signs were now gone, except for the statue of herself that still towered at the Docks.

She had figured the people of Kirkwall would have torn it down after the explosion of the Chantry and the upraise of the Circle which she had, in parts, supported. Even bigger was her surprise when she found the statue in mint condition, shining and polished, with a few bunches of flowers at the feet.

Where the Chantry had been nothing but marble floor reminded of the once enormous building. A new statue of Andraste, smaller and made from brass, not gold, had been erected in the middle of this new plaza, and at its feet was a plate with the names of all those who had lost their lives in the explosion.

The Gallows were empty. No-one dared to go where the final battle had taken place. Earlier that night, Hawke and Varric had sneaked in to find the place eerily quiet and looking exactly as they remembered it. The only thing missing were the bodies of those who had fallen. But other than that, the Gallows remained a memorial of what had transpired.

The few mages who had stayed in the city and claimed to be loyal to the former Circle where now living with the city guard – and under the careful watch of one Aveline Vallen. From what Hawke had gathered, the mages felt more secure when being watched – they hadn’t suffered under the templars before – and since there were no templars around anymore, they had asked the city watch to do their job.

Of course the watch was only limited useful when it came to actually fighting mages should the need arise, but for some reason, the strange cohabitation worked out well enough. They hadn’t been to see Aveline yet, but Hawke looked forward to it and wanted to do so as soon as possible.

Masses for the Andrastians were currently being held in the throne room of the Viscount’s keep and it would be easy to sneak in hidden amongst the hundreds of people during the next mass and take a look around without revealing herself just yet.

While a lot had changed in her absence, some things just... hadn’t. Lowtown (and presumably Darktown, too) was still crawling with all sort of lowlifes and Hawke and Varric had stumbled upon conspiring blood mages more by accident, really.

Now that the last enemy was gone, they continued their way through the dark city and the closer they got to Hightown, the harder it was to avoid the patrols of the city-guard. However, Varric and Hawke were nothing if not practiced and melted into the shadows easily whenever it was required.

When they finally stood in front of the door to Hawke’s estate, Hawke made a face. It took Varric only seconds to figure out what was going on.

“You don’t have a key, right?”

Hawke harrumphed. “As if I need a key.”

“You actually do if you don’t want to get arrested for breaking into the estate of the Champion of Kirkwall.”

“We’re rogues,” she muttered back, jolting the door a bit. “We’re... super-stealthy. No one’s going to-“

“I- I know someone’s out there! If you don’t go away right now, I will... uh, force you to!” A timid voice suddenly came from just behind the door and made Hawke and Varric jump.

“Is that _Orana_?” Varric asked, disbelief in his voice. “What is she still _doing_ here?”

Hawke shrugged before she quietly called out: “Orana? It’s me, Hawke.”

“Hawke?” A voice came from behind them, at the same time as Orana asked from behind the door: “Messere Hawke?”

Both Varric and Hawke turned around, only to face a grinning Isabela, twirling one of Bianca’s arrows. “I knew this arrow was Bianca’s!” She tossed it to Varric, who caught it easily and put it away. “And I knew I was missing one,” he grumbled before he raised one eyebrow at Hawke. “See, you’re not stealthy. Half the town knows you’re back by now.”

“Because _you_ keep losing arrows!”

Behind them, the sound of a bolt being drawn back caused them to face the door again, which swung open and revealed a very pale elf with what looked like a frying pan in her hands. Her eyes widened when they fell on Isabela, Varric and finally Hawke before she dropped the pan and rushed towards them. She stopped herself, however, when she realized she was about to hug her former employer and froze mid-movement before she settled for staring at Hawke with a shy smile. “Messere, you’re back!”

“And you’re... still here,” Hawke observed, before she gave her a small smile. “It’s good to see you, Orana.”

“Well, this is certainly a surprise,” a new voice came from the shadows and when the person moved to pull back the hood covering her face, pale blue light emitted from the strange markings on his skin.

“Elves,” Varric observed. “They always come in packs,” he commented drily before he grinned lopsidedly at Fenris. “Hello, Broody.”

“Varric,” he replied with the usual annoyed look accompanying the mention of that particular nickname, before the elf’s eyes focused on the Champion “Hawke.”

“That is, in fact, my name. As you all remember. Kudos. Now – can we get inside, please? In case there are more people waiting in the shadows?” In an afterthought, she added: “There aren’t more people, right?”

There weren’t. The small gathering migrated inside and found that even though Hawke had been gone for years, the estate looked pretty much just like she left it, except for the empty corner in which Sandal and Bodhan had kept their things.

Orana had stayed behind after Hawke had disappeared and because she didn’t know where to go or what to do, she’d kept living in the mansion, keeping it clean, fending off the one or the other thug with her frying pan and lived off of selling the various copies of Anders’ manuscript that she’d found in every corner of the house.

Apparently collectors paid a lot of coin to get their hands on hand-written first drafts of the Manifesto by the mage who had started the revolution.

Isabela had quit her job with the Inquisition after Adaar had defeated Corypheus and while Hawke had been on her way to the Anderfels and Varric remained at Skyhold for a bit longer to help out there, Isabela had set sail to Kirkwall and, with Fenris in tow, helped keeping the coast clear from slavers and helped with the reparations.

Kirkwall was a pisshole, it wasn’t where either of them had been born – but Kirkwall was home and Isabela, Fenris, Orana (and now Hawke and Varric, too) had been drawn back to the city they had once protected. Or at least had tried to protect.

Of course the group was far from being complete. The absence of Merrill was painfully obvious because no one had to explain something twice, and the absence of Anders was... well, it loomed in the shadows, a topic that everyone knew would come up but no one was prepared to talk about just yet. Even Fenris kept anything he might have had to say about the former Grey Warden to himself for once.

But Hawke knew one thing: wherever she went, neither trouble, nor her friends were far away. (Sometimes, in fact, trouble and her friends were the same thing, really.)

The Champion was back in Kirkwall. With the people she considered family. Hawke was where she belonged.

%MCEPASTEBIN%

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!!  
> \- Hanna


End file.
